by Roger Hayden
“Just keep a lid on it!” Thaxton said, louder than anyone. “She’s suffered enough. God help us if we can’t get those children back.”
Angela slowly backed away from the door as her legs wobbled and her head pounded. Her doubts stripped away, she found herself running down the hall as clueless faces passed by her in a blur. Sweat poured down from her forehead as she charged into the bathroom and ran to the nearest stall, slamming the door open, falling to her knees, and releasing all the sickness that had been building in her since the sun rose that morning.
Executive Action
Angela needed to talk to her mother and spent more than an hour in a small, deserted office, crying over Doug with separate calls to Mary, and Doug’s mother, Cindy. The only hope Angela had left was to rescue Chassity and Lisa in time. She couldn’t see her life going on without them.
News vans had surrounded the Border Patrol station with their spotlights and reporters speaking against the backdrop of the building. Despite their persistence, they were kept at a careful distance and not given any official comment from department heads. The ISIS video, however, was dominating the news, and Doug’s beheading had already been seen by millions of people. If Angela thought she had seen overwhelming media coverage after the truck explosion, she was in for a rude awakening. And it was only a taste of what was to come.
Her mother had demanded that she come back home to Pittsburgh and let the authorities handle the rest, but that was something Angela couldn’t do. Her faith in government agencies had long since evaporated. She had to tune out the media, and even her friends and family, for that matter. It was the only way.
Later that evening, she walked through the station, surprised to see so many other empty offices. With all the cameras outside the building and news vans packed along the parking lot perimeter, she thought it strange that so many border patrol agents had checked out. Like walking through a nightmare, she was facing the worst horror of her life, and no one was around to help.
She continued down a dimly lit hall past several closed doors and entered the conference room, expecting to find the FBI team huddled together strategizing. Instead, only Chief Special Agent Burke sat at the table, with half the lights shut off. There was no sign of the FBI team—not even their laptops remained. The projector screen displayed a satellite image of Texas from before the raid. The video feed from alpha and bravo teams was gone.
Burke was staring down at some papers and barely acknowledged Angela when she walked in. As she approached the table, he glanced up, but his expression seemed vacant and distant. Angela couldn’t figure him out. He seemed competent enough—no nonsense and professional. But what was he really looking for? And ultimately, did he care about rescuing her family?
“I need to know what’s happening,” she said.
He studied her for a moment, saying nothing, then responded by taking a brief swig from a silver flask sitting at his side. His sad, glazed eyes told her all she needed to know. They had made no progress. She walked closer to the table and took a seat across from him, crossing her arms and staring him down.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering the flask.
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “What I said earlier… I didn’t mean it. What I need to know is how you intend to save my daughters.” Though part of her still did blame him, and the government for that matter, time was too critical to start pointing fingers.
Burke went back to reading the documents. Something was wrong, and Angela knew it.
“Mr. Burke,” she began. “I am grieving for my husband, and the pain is… unimaginable. But nothing, right now, is more important than finding my daughters. What about the phone trace? The terrorist website? What did you find? How hard can it be to find these monsters?”
Burke held up a wavering hand and then spoke in slow, calculated tones. “I had a wife and family. And much like you, they meant everything to me. Loretta. She was my wife. And she was beautiful. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to find her, let alone marry her, but I managed to pull it off. Our two children, Brett and Jordan, were good kids. Stunningly good. I was blessed, Agent Gannon, I was very blessed. But sometimes things happen. Things beyond our control, and we lose it all in the blink of an eye. I thought that one day I could move on. But I never fully have… and I don’t think I ever will.”
Angela leaned back, not sure what to say. The most obvious question was to ask him what had happened, but he hadn’t elaborated, and she didn’t want to press him.
“We’re all different,” he continued with a sigh. “I don’t want to tell you that things will get better or worse. They sort of just stay the same. My honest advice for you would be to surround yourself with friends and family and deal with this. Step away before you go insane.”
He paused and took a quick sip from his flask. He wiped his mouth and breathed out heavily, while Angela remained quiet and patient, though her frustration was rising. He set the flask back down and shuffled through the report, separating the pages.
“This job is pretty much all I have left. Used to think the same thing about drinking until I gave it up.” He paused, looking at the flask. “For the most part, anyway. I’ve managed to put a lot behind me. The things I’ve seen, things I’ve done, things I’ve been through. I’ve sacrificed a lot for this country and… sold my soul in a way. Been paying the price for some time.”
Angela leaned forward, confused. She had no patience for drunken ramblings. “Why are you telling me this? My husband is dead. My daughters could be next. I’m not going anywhere. You could beam me into space, and that wouldn’t do any good, because this is all that I can think about.”
She turned in her chair and pointed to the windows behind them, where the blinds were closed. “Tell me what we’re going to do, or I’ll run right outside and tell those news cameras everything. I’ll tell them how the FBI killed several Middle Eastern men yesterday without due process, many of them unarmed.”
Slightly taken aback, Burke clammed up. He held up the report and tapped it neatly against the table.
“Where is everyone?” Angela asked. “I came back here expecting answers. I understand you’ve suffered, and I appreciate your advice. It’s just…” She dropped her arms onto the table, limp with fatigue. “I’m so exhausted. My heart has been racing for the past two days, and it won’t slow down. I need resolution to this, and you seem like the only person who can help me.”
Burke set the papers down again and shifted his glance between Angela and the typed documents below. He took a deep breath and set both palms on the table. “I advise you to walk away for a reason. And just in case you feel the urge to run to the media, I will deny all of it. And your children will never see the light of day.”
Angela couldn’t quite figure out his tone. “Is that a threat?” she asked.
He raised a sharp finger in the air and pointed at her. “Do I have your word that you’ll keep this between you and me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Burke slammed his fist on the table, startling her. “Do I have your word?”
“Yes!” she said with equal intensity.
For a moment, they just looked at each other, silently reeling from their own personal traumas.
Burke took a deep breath and regained his composure. “I don’t know what’s going on in Washington, but they’re not playing around. The ISIS video has gone viral. It’s all over the news. Your husband is all over the news. I expected a swift response from the president, but I never expected anything like this…” He paused and slid one paper toward Angela.
She took it and examined the official seal of the president at the top.
“It’s a presidential order,” he explained. “To conduct a series of drone strikes on remaining suspected holdouts throughout the area.”
Angela tried to translate the complex wording of the document to see for herself what such an order looked like. “The president authorizes the use of remote a
erial strikes on key targets,” read one line. Below was the signature of the president.
“To answer your question,” Burke continued, “the FBI was called back to Washington. The drone strike order is top secret.” He paused and chuckled to himself. “I could go to jail, or worse, just for telling you.”
Angela looked up from the paper, stiff with shock. “So why are you telling me?”
“Because I’m not giving up on your daughters. I’m going to find them myself before this madman of a president blows them up.”
Deeply focused, Angela leaned forward. “What are the targets?”
“Don’t know,” Burke answered. “It’s classified.”
Angela held both arms out. “Aren’t you CIA?”
“Not for long.”
Frustration and rage boiled within her again. She couldn’t understand how such an action could be authorized and under what authority. “But people are going to see the explosions! How do they think people won’t notice?”
“They’ll have an answer,” Burke said solemnly. “They always do.”
“My daughters are still alive,” Angela said, spitting her words out in a fury. “And the government expects me to just sit back and let them get blown up? Are you kidding me?” She vaulted up from her chair, tipping it over.
Burke looked up at her with complete calm. “They’re not taking chances. Not the risk of a second video. This time with children.”
“So they’d rather just kill them?” she shouted. Her face felt hot, with the familiar sickness rising in her stomach. Angela had never felt so enraged or so helpless in her life. She began moving away from the table. “If you think I’m going to just sit back and let that happen, you’re out of your mind. I’m leaving, and I’m going to tell every last news camera out there about this fucked-up plan.”
“Don’t leave,” Burke said.
“Try and stop me,” she snapped back, stomping to the door.
Burke pulled out a pistol from under his suit jacket, pointed it in the air, and fired, blasting out an overhead light.
Angela halted inches from the door and turned to him, stunned. She had a pistol of her own holstered at her side, but he had a clear advantage. His 9mm had a silencer extension on the barrel to muffle the sound. The actual gunshot hadn’t been louder than the shattering of the fixture’s glass. Nonetheless, it had gotten her attention.
“I have no intention of shooting you, as I’m sure you feel inclined to ask,” he said, resting the pistol on his knee. “But I cannot let you leave. Not until we’ve reached an agreement.”
“What agreement? That I let the government drop a bomb on my children?” She seethed.
“That’s not going to happen,” Burke said.
“And why not?” Angela shouted.
“Because I’m going to find them first.”
Angela turned fully toward him and crossed her arms, nodding. “Really? How do you plan to do that?”
“I’m going off the grid. Covert mission all my own. I’ll find those bastards myself, kill them all, and get your daughters back.”
Seemingly amused, Angela shook her head in disbelief. She’d thought she had heard everything, but Burke’s claim was nearly too much. “What are you, some kind of government assassin?”
Burke rose from his chair and put his pistol back in his jacket. “That’s right. I was. And that’s exactly what I am now as of this moment.”
“If you’re so sure you can find them, tell the president where they are and call off the strike. Save them before it’s too late!”
“I told you. They’re not taking any chances. The president is set in his ways, I can assure you that.” Burke dropped the tough-guy persona for a moment to flash Angela a genuine look of concern. “I’m going to do this. That’s why I need you to find some peace. Surround yourself with loved ones, and I promise I’ll bring you back your girls.”
“I told you,” she said defiantly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fine,” Burke said, shrugging. “Stay here for all I care. I’ll be back soon.”
He grabbed his laptop bag from the table, stuffed some papers inside, and slung it over his shoulder. After taking a big stretch, he strode toward the door, clearly determined to go about his plan his way.
Angela stepped directly into his path, blocking it.
“You’re taking me with you,” she said.
Burke froze, wide eyed, and began to look her up and down. He laughed to himself and sighed. “Thanks, but I work better on my own.”
She stopped him as he attempted to walk past. “You won’t know I’m there.”
“No,” Burke said.
“Maybe you’re forgetting something,” she said, burning holes through him with her eyes. “Those bastards killed my husband. I want to see them go down. It’s owed to me, damn it.”
Burke’s snarky expression disappeared, replaced by a serious, tough demeanor. “You make one mistake, you go away, and you do it quietly. You interfere with my work one time, I can’t and won’t guarantee your safety.”
“That’s fair,” she said, moving out of his path.
Burke turned the handle and opened the door. “Fine. Let’s go. We have twelve hours.”
“Until what?” she asked, following him.
“Until the government starts bombing.”
***
Chassity and Lisa stared at the darkened cement walls of their cell with fear of what was to come next. It had been hours, maybe even a day for all they knew, since their father’s voice outside the door had given them a glimpse of hope. But he had seemed distressed, and they knew he had been pulled away.
Though there were two mattresses in the darkened room, the two girls stayed close to each other, fearing every sound outside the door—every footstep, voice, or cough—sending shivers down their spine. Like a bad dream they couldn’t wake up from, all they could think about was being taken from their rooms and tossed into a vehicle with bags over their heads.
Chassity, thirteen, remained focused on their survival and eventual escape—if that was even possible—while her eleven-year-old sister, Lisa, had slipped into some kind of catatonic state. She hadn’t said a word in hours. But her constant tears showed that she hadn’t completely drifted away.
When they had first been taken to the small, windowless cell, Lisa had been full of questions. She had asked Chassity where they had been taken. Where their mother was. Where their father was. All Chassity could do was tell her sister that she did not know. What do they want? What are they going to do to us? Chassity didn’t have the answers.
Once Lisa grew tired of asking questions that had no answers, she went silent. With their father pounding on the door earlier, Chassity had some questions of her own. They hadn’t actually seen the people who had taken them captive, but she was aware of her mother’s profession and that part of her job was to stop drug dealers and criminals from coming into the country. Perhaps her mother had crossed the wrong people.
Upon their arrival, their captors had tossed a few bottles of water into the cell, but other than that, Chassity hadn’t seen or talked with anyone. Their solid iron door was impenetrable, with several dead bolts running down its side and a small rectangular eye slot in the center of the door that could open from outside.
A man peeked inside from time to time. His dark, steely eyes frightened the girls, and before Chassity could say anything, the slot slammed back shut. Two bags sat near the girls, packed with clothes hastily stuffed in. Chassity was grateful to have at least that, which allowed them to change out of their pajamas into jeans and T-shirts, but she would have given anything to have her cell phone. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen.
She looked around at the cracked, barren walls. The high ceiling buzzed with a single flickering light bulb. It was the kind of room that nightmares were made from. But all was not lost, Chassity thought. Their dad was near, and he would make sure nothing happened to them. She put an arm around Lisa and pulled her closer
, softly speaking, with a careful eye on the door. Lisa slid closer to her and fell against her shoulder. Though she still wouldn’t speak.
“It’s okay,” Chassity said. “They probably just want money, and then they’ll let us go.”
Lisa said nothing. She blinked, and Chassity was happy to get that much out of her.
“Hang in there,” she said, squeezing her tightly. “I’ll protect you.”
Lisa was in the sixth grade and relatively new to the middle school they attended. With Chassity in eighth grade and close to graduating to high school, they had drifted apart a little. Now, yanked from their comfortable home and thrown into a cell like prisoners, their bond had never been closer.
“I want Mom,” Lisa said faintly. “Why hasn’t she come to get us yet?”
Chassity didn’t know what to say without frightening her younger sister further. The answers weren’t clear—not from where they sat. The truth was, Chassity knew her mother well, and she knew that Mom was looking for them, with the entire Border Patrol behind her. Maybe the whole town as well. Her mind drifted ahead in time, to the day when she and Lisa were already freed and back at home.
She closed her eyes and took it all in, putting the entire unpleasant experience behind her. Suddenly, she could feel Lisa shivering next to her. She opened her eyes and saw that her younger sister had her eyes closed as well, and she was shaking. She rubbed her back and then leaned forward to pull more clothes out of her bag, covering Lisa with them. The mattress was bare and smelled musty, but it were better than the cold floor.
“It’s okay,” she said, placing a shirt across Lisa’s chest and pulling it up to her neck. “Sleep now, and you’ll be out of here soon.”
Suddenly, the door slot opened, startling them. Lisa’s eyes shot open. Chassity held her close and looked to the door. The same man’s black eyes peered in, his dark eyebrows barely exposed. He watched them quietly, not saying a word, until Chassity had had enough of being scared and spied on.