The End Of Desire argi-8

by M. R. Sellars

She nodded.

  Before I could press her further, the radio crackled again.

  “Book, you should be able to see Mandalay now,” Frye’s voice came over the air.

  “Acknowledged. Okay, I see her,” a male voice replied. “Tamm?”

  “Ten-four. I see her,” another woman said, her voice low against a backdrop of the calliope-like music from the carousel.

  Fifteen or so seconds passed and the radio burped again.

  “Heads up. We have a possible target approaching from the south,” came Frye’s voice. “Red hair… Black, full-length leather coat at my three o’clock.”

  “Right on time,” Constance said, her voice also now underscored by the bright tune of the amusement ride.

  “I see her,” Tamm acknowledged.

  The announcement served to instantly ratchet up the level of tension in the van. Knowing how I was feeling at this moment, I didn’t even want to imagine what it was like for Constance and the rest of the agents.

  “I’m on her,” Frye announced after a desperately long thirty seconds.

  “Make sure you give her some room,” Book’s voice came across. “If it’s her, we don’t want her spooked.”

  “Got it.”

  Another half minute crept past at what seemed like greatly reduced speed. The hammering inside my skull was starting to make me feel nauseous, and I found myself wishing for an economy-sized bottle of aspirin. I waited, my ears straining to hear anything at all, as if some quiet transmission might escape my notice. I knew I was holding my breath, but I didn’t care.

  “False alarm,” Constance’s voice suddenly blipped from the speaker. “Not her.”

  “Dammit,” I muttered, as I allowed the oxygen-depleted air to sigh from my lungs.

  I looked at my watch and saw that it was 8:04.

  “The real adrenalin doesn’t kick in quite yet,” Ben offered. “Believe me.”

  According to my watch, it was 8:15 before the radio crackled back to life.

  “Male subject approaching Mandalay,” Frye announced. “Brown hair, blue over white jacket.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Probably some fuck gonna hit on ‘er,” Ben grumbled.

  Three minutes later, the radio burped with Constance’s voice, “Subject handed me a note. He said a woman paid him fifty dollars to deliver it. He said she told him to look for someone who looked just like her waiting at the carousel at eight-fifteen and that her name would be Felicity. Sounds like our girl. I guess she wanted to size me up.”

  “Did he give you a location for her?” a male voice asked over the air.

  “He pointed toward the storyteller’s area back down the path, but he said that was about forty-five minutes ago. I’m looking but I can’t see her. Too many people. But, it’s a good bet she’s watching from somewhere nearby to make sure the note got delivered.”

  “Frye?”

  “Nothing. I’m moving that way now.”

  “What does the note say?”

  “It’s one of the map handouts,” she replied, her voice still muddied by the carousel music. “Display number eight has been circled.”

  “Eight is the Glacier motion simulator. It’s closed for maintenance,” the male voice said.

  “I guess she wants some privacy after all,” Constance replied.

  “We’ll need time to move into position,” the voice came back.

  “She’s sure to be watching,” Constance said. “I don’t want her to get cold feet, so I’m going to start that way now.”

  The radio hissed for a moment, then the voice answered, “Don’t get in a hurry… We need to reposition. Book, you tail Mandalay.”

  “Already moving,” he replied.

  “Tamm, you fall in behind Book.”

  “It’s not going to look right if we have too many people moving into a closed area,” Constance announced. “Keep some distance.”

  “Acknowledged,” Tamm said. “Hanging back.”

  A minute passed then Constance’s voice came across in a low tone, “There’s a huge crowd at the forest exhibit, and they’re blocking the path. It’s going to take me a minute to get through.”

  Book’s voice burped in behind hers, but it was partially drowned out by the sound of the aforementioned crowd. All that really came through was, “Dam-t, -st Man-lay.”

  “Say again?”

  “The crowd,” he repeated, the transmission somewhat clearer. “I’ve lost Mandalay. She was…”

  Before he finished the sentence, the muffled report of something that sounded far too much like gunshots popped loudly from the speaker followed immediately by panicked screaming.

  “Shots fired!” his frantic voice fell in behind.

  “Everybody move!” the other voice ordered. “Now!”

  Seconds later Book’s voice was shouting across the radio again, devoid of all composure, “SHOTS FIRED! MANDALAY’S HIT! OFFICER DOWN!

  OFFICER DOWN!”

  If adrenalin hadn’t been dumping into Ben’s system before, it definitely was now. He came fully upright in his seat as the frantic chatter continued to burst from the radio.

  The device hissed for a second, then we heard Book exclaim, “JESUS CHRIST… JESUS CHRIST… ONE GOT PAST HER VEST! SHE’S BLEEDING BAD! WE NEED PARAMEDICS RIGHT NOW!”

  CHAPTER 43:

  “GODFUCKINDAMMIT!” Ben yelped the curse as a single word before launching into, “GODDAMN FEEBS CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT! SONOFABITCH!”

  I was so dumbstruck that I couldn’t make any words of my own come out of my mouth. I simply looked at him with a horrified expression as the radio continued to belch frantic chatter.

  “Book! What is your exact location?!”

  “Just outside the forest exhibit! Right before the path splits! Hurry!”

  “Found the gun,” Frye’s voice blipped over the air. “But no shooter. The area is clear. She must have dispersed with the crowd.”

  “Washburn, cover southeast,” a voice ordered. “If she didn’t go past Book and Frye, then she has to be heading that way. I’m on the main path coming in toward you.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “We’re locking down the park,” another voice added. “SWAT will be here in two.”

  The device continued to burp and hiss with various voices for a moment, all of them reporting that there was no sign of Annalise. There was a quick burst of silence, then one of the agents came across the speaker, “I’ve got something. Red wig in a trashcan outside the restrooms near the stuffed animal workshop… Be advised the subject may have changed her appearance.”

  “WHERE ARE THOSE PARAMEDICS?!” Book’s frenzied words bled through on the heels of the announcement

  “Mutherfuck,” Ben muttered, a jumbled mix of fear, anger, and desperation wrapped tightly into his voice. He was already half out of the van as he shouted at us, “Stay here!”

  He didn’t waste time closing the door, and the alarm chime was dinging incessantly to warn of the keys in the ignition, adding its irritating insistence to the already chaotic swirl of voices issuing from the radio. The crash I had felt coming was now exploding around me, and the outcome was as bad as I feared, if not worse.

  Sirens were filling the night air as they closed in on the park. Their urgent wails were bold punctuation for the overwhelming despair that was starting to tighten its grip around me.

  My heart was clogging my throat as I watched my friend take off across the street at a dead run toward the zoo entrance. I still couldn’t manage to form anything resembling coherent sentences out of the distressed thoughts rushing through my already tortured grey matter. I turned in my seat and looked at my wife.

  “Gods…” I whispered. “Felicity…”

  Instead of finding a similar grief stricken expression on her face as I had expected, what greeted me was a thin smile as she slowly shook her head. She looked into my eyes, then cocked her head to the side and clucked her tongue.

  “Chienne damnee,” she said with
a fluid Southern accent. “I knew she was going to do that.”

  A fresh dose of panic was injected into my veins as the haunting echo in her voice hit my ears. It dawned on me that I should have seen this coming, and that I now knew the reason Felicity had been keeping so quiet. Her body was here, but she wasn’t even present-and hadn’t been for several minutes. Miranda had seen to that. I can only imagine what my expression must have been as the realization washed over me, but whatever it was, it seemed to amuse her.

  “Surprised, little man?” she asked.

  Next to me the radio crackled. “This is Frye. I’ve got an open maintenance gate on the southeast corner. Washington drive, just north of Concourse.”

  “Lawson, your team has the parking area. Did you copy that?”

  “Ten-four. There are maybe twenty to thirty civilians on the lot. Parker, Bates, stay with the lot…”

  The rest of the broadcast faded into the background as I made a grab for my wife. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I got hold of her, but I knew if I didn’t, things could only get worse than they already were. As I twisted in her direction, she jumped back, shifting to the left and out of my reach. My seatbelt snapped tight as it achieved the end of its tether with a jarring stop, biting into the side of my neck and preventing me from moving any farther.

  Whipping back around, I fumbled with the latch, trying to pop it loose so that I could pull free of the restraint. But, I wasn’t fast enough. My wife seized the opportunity to scramble to the right, moving directly behind me toward the side door. At the same moment the catch released and I started swinging around again, the sound of the sliding door wrenching open with a heavy thud added itself to the insane concert of noises.

  I twisted back around and grabbed for the door handle, but the door didn’t budge. Reaching quickly, I pulled up the lock post, mentally cursing the older van and my penchant for habitually locking doors. The door popped open as I shouldered my way out of the vehicle and stumbled onto the lot. My wife now had a substantial head start, and she was gaining speed.

  I took off after her, pushing as hard as I could to catch up. My heart was already racing, but my earlier horror was now replaced by determination as my adrenal gland finally elected to dump its payload into my system.

  Felicity was darting across the asphalt, weaving between parked cars with the nimbleness of her petite stature. She didn’t seem to be running from me as much as she seemed to be running toward something.

  I heard shouting voices coming from various positions around the lot and the street in front of it combined with a sudden rush of heavy footsteps in the distance. I suspected the FBI team had spotted her and were responding.

  My wife swivel-hipped around the end of an SUV, aiming herself toward a petite, dark-haired figure that was walking briskly up the aisle just beyond. I tried to follow but misjudged the gap, catching my shoulder hard against a truck’s mirror bracket. I stumbled, slamming sideways against another car. In that instant I lost sight of my wife, but I could now hear the angry screams of two women engaged in what could only be a fight. I pushed off and continued between the parked vehicles, hooking around the end of the SUV in the direction of the commotion, and launched myself into the aisle.

  As I ran out I could see the source of the screams. My wife and the other woman were rolling on the pavement several yards away. I ran toward them as I heard more shouts and pounding footsteps.

  I covered the distance as quickly as I could, reaching out as I ran. When I made it to them, Felicity was on top of the other woman with her hands clasped around her neck. A stream of French was spewing from her mouth, and the only word I could recognize was chienne.

  Grabbing beneath her arm, I slipped my own in up around her chest and latched onto her opposite shoulder. Using my other hand, I dug my thumb into one of her wrists and wrenched her hand free as I pulled her back.

  Annalise coughed hard as I struggled to pull my wife off her. Felicity continued to scream in a mix of French and English, kicking as we fell back. With her free hand, she reached around and took hold of my hair, wresting my head roughly to the side. We both tumbled onto the asphalt, her on top of me squirming and still kicking.

  I fought to hold on to her, but the air was suddenly forced from my lungs as added weight forced down on my chest. Annalise landed on top of us, screaming her own barrage of French-peppered verbiage. I heard Felicity begin to gag as the tables were now turned. She released my hair and swung her arm up, digging her nails into Annalise’s cheek. I heard her shriek as the claws dug in, but the struggle continued. The shouting voices were now right on top of us, and the footsteps were now shuffling nearby instead of pounding in the distance.

  A half second later, I heard Annalise scream, “That’s mine, chienne!”

  My unbearable headache instantly became even worse, and I tasted blood in my mouth. An unearthly scream echoed inside my skull. It was just like the wail I had heard the day I cut the binding in our back yard. I didn’t know what Annalise was claiming as her own, but I knew it had something to do with the connection between her and Felicity.

  My wife went limp then shuddered and began to yelp as Annalise continued on the offensive. The disorientation of Miranda’s sudden exit had taken hold, and Felicity was no longer fighting back. I loosened my grip on her and, in a panic, I twisted against the cold asphalt in an attempt to pull myself out from under them before Annalise could do any damage to her. Just as I managed to kick my legs around and started to extricate myself, I felt both their combined weights pulled from my chest. In the same moment, I was unceremoniously rolled onto my stomach, and my hands were being pulled behind my back as handcuffs were applied.

  “Rowan!” Felicity called from a few feet away, her voice strained and confused.

  I turned my head, but I couldn’t see her.

  Behind me I could hear Annalise still screaming some especially nasty sounding French as the agents wrestled her to the ground.

  “Rowan!” Felicity shouted again, the anxiety in her voice audibly stepping up another notch.

  “It’s all right! It’s going to be fine!” I called back to her before I laid the side of my face against the cold pavement and sighed heavily, “It’s finally over,” I muttered to myself. “It’s going to be fine.”

  Friday, December 16

  12:16 A.M.

  FBI Field Office

  St. Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 44:

  I had been here before. Sitting in this very office, in this very chair, while my wife was being fingerprinted, interrogated, and falsely accused of the crimes that had started this entire ordeal better than a month ago. The blob of metal bits that made up the magnetic sculpture sitting on the edge of the desk in front of me had probably morphed shape a time or two since then, though I couldn’t tell it by looking. But, other than that, the office hadn’t changed. It was just as I remembered it.

  I pushed up from my slouched position and readjusted myself in the chair before letting out a tired sigh and rolling my head to the side to look at my wife. She was curled up as only she could do, with her head lying on her arm where she had draped it across the back of her own seat. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing evenly, but I knew she wasn’t asleep. She looked almost at peace, and that was a sight I hadn’t seen for quite some time.

  “How are you feeling,” I asked softly.

  “Tired,” she answered, her thick Irish accent applying its inflections to the word.

  “Yeah…” I agreed. “How about other than that?”

  “Aye, you mean?”

  “Yeah, I mean.”

  “Like I just woke up from a nightmare.”

  “Uh-huh,” I grunted. “Me too.”

  We sat in silence for a while before she yawned audibly and stretched as she repositioned herself in the chair.

  “It’s really over, isn’t it then?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I replied. “Miranda, anyway.”

  I heard a
click and turned to see the door behind us swinging open. A blonde woman a few years older than Constance entered.

  “Mister Gant, Miz O’Brien,” she said, her own voice sounding tired.

  “Agent Parker,” I returned.

  “You’re free to go,” she said. “I’ll be happy to drive you home if you’d like.”

  “Is there any word on Constance?” I asked.

  She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Only that she’s still in surgery.”

  “Aye, but she’s going to be okay, isn’t she?” Felicity asked.

  “All we know is she’s critical,” she said. “She lost quite a bit of blood. Our SAC and director are both at the hospital now. So is your friend, Detective Storm.”

  “Do you think you could take us there instead?” Felicity asked.

  Parker nodded. “I can do that.”

  As we both stood up, she said, “Oh, before I forget… I wanted to return this to you, Miz O’Brien.” She pulled a small paper envelope from her jacket pocket and held it out toward Felicity. “Devereaux claims it’s her necklace, but we saw her yank it from your neck when we were pulling her off you. It looks like an heirloom, so I thought you might want to have it back.”

  The angry scream, “That’s mine, chienne!” immediately flitted through my brain, along with the ethereal wail of anger and loss. Behind it came the memory of Ben asking me if Felicity had such a piece of jewelry, all because Lewis insisted she had been wearing it when he met her at the bondage club. The connection became instantly clear.

  Felicity reached for the envelope, but I thrust my hand out ahead of hers and snatched it from Agent Parker’s fingers. “I’ll take that.”

  Felicity cocked her head at me and furrowed her brow. “Rowan, that’s…”

  “Trust me, you don’t want it,” I said.

  “But…”

  “I’ll explain later. Right now, I have a feeling we need to just get to the hospital as soon as we can.”

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-d3a791-61c7-cd4c-2181-a4d0-a19b-c64dc3