Payback

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Atlas spit his coffee at the door.

  Dawson shook his head, chuckling as he swiped his thumb, killing the screensaver. “Okay, gentlemen, and I do use the term very loosely, here’s the situation.” He quickly gave them a briefing covering everything known to this point.

  “How confident are we that she’s alive?” asked Atlas, his voice reverberating through the room. Dawson swore there was a Jurassic Park ripple in his coffee.

  “We’re hoping she’s been abducted, along with the Ukrainian national, not just because of who she is, but what she is. If they want a doctor, my guess is they’re not going to kill her any time soon.”

  “Makes sense,” agreed Niner. “And there’s no chatter?”

  “None, which is odd. They seem to have a complete communications lockdown on this. My guess is that it’s a small, dedicated group and all messages are being delivered personally.”

  “No uptick?” asked Jimmy.

  “Huge, but that started within minutes of their VP being assassinated.”

  “And the survivor from Norfolk?”

  “I’m heading over to interrogate him in five mikes.” He nodded toward Niner. “You’ll come with me. Atlas, you and Jimmy put together an equipment list. Cross reference with the USS Simpson. Anything they don’t have, bring it. We’ve been delayed until 0900 tomorrow so there’s plenty of time to get it right then get some rack time.”

  “Why the delay?” asked Jimmy.

  “We’re hitching a ride with a forensic team and they couldn’t get their shit together as fast as us.”

  Dawson snapped his laptop shut, signaling the end of the meeting. He rose and headed for the door, the others following.

  “Do you think we’ll get anything out of the prisoner?” asked Niner at his side.

  Dawson shook his head.

  “Not a peep.”

  Leroux & White Residence, Fairfax Towers, Falls Church, Virginia

  Chris Leroux’s four man security detail had already checked the route to his apartment, a routine that had long ago become tedious for him, but was still necessary due to the threat from The Assembly. The worst they had ever found was someone passed out in the stairwell, but as the lead agent had told him, that drunk could be someone merely pretending in the hopes of being ignored.

  It was the only time he hadn’t been allowed into his own home.

  Tonight however was uneventful. Sherrie was already home and had texted him she was awake so a coded knock was used, the pattern changed based upon the day of the week then randomized every four weeks.

  Sherrie opened the door, her lithe figure wrapped in a housecoat, revealing nothing but her smile.

  “Hey, Baby!” she said, pulling him inside.

  Leroux turned to the two men who had accompanied him, the other two covering the foyer. “Thanks guys, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  The lead agent gave a two fingered salute. “Have a good night.”

  Sherrie closed the door and pulled Leroux by the hand to the couch. She pushed him into the seat then crouched in front of him, grabbing his left shoe.

  “What’s all this?” he asked, not sure what was going on. She removed his shoe then moved to the other, this something she had never done before.

  She shrugged. “I was watching an old movie, saw the wife do this for her husband when he came home.” The other shoe was set aside. Husband! She took his foot and pushed his leg up, resting his heel on her shoulder as she began to massage his feet.

  He moaned as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “That feels amazing.”

  “Thought you might like it.” She switched to his other foot, her thumbs kneading away the tension built up over a long day in dress shoes. She let go of his foot, gently placing it on the floor then pushed his legs apart, scooting forward, her head deliciously close to his lap.

  “Just what kind of movie was this?” he asked as he opened his eyes and looked down at her, his heart rate picking up a few beats as something stirred below.

  “Just an old Bogart flick.” She lay her head on his crotch and it was everything he could do to not squirm in delight.

  “Somebody’s happy to see me.”

  “Uh, can you blame me?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  He laughed as she sat back up, removing her housecoat, revealing her completely naked body underneath.

  Lift off.

  “Something tells me you’ve been watching more than old movies.”

  She climbed up the couch and bit his lip, her breath hot on his face as he reached up to embrace her. She grabbed his arms and shoved them back against the couch. He struggled slightly, the thrill of the restricted movements only enjoyable if he didn’t actually try too hard to win.

  She pulled back, just a few inches, her hands clasped around his upper arms, pinning him in place. He leaned forward, just his neck, trying to reach her lips, but she pulled away just a little bit more.

  “You want some of this,” she whispered, staring into his eyes as she seductively licked her lips.

  All he could do was nod, the ability to speak forgotten.

  Suddenly his left arm was free as her hand darted down below, squeezing.

  He moaned.

  And his phone vibrated in his pocket, the familiar pattern of the office signaling an end to their fun.

  She felt it too.

  She fished the phone out of his pocket, frowning, but not letting go of the death grip she had on his most favorite body part. She handed him the phone.

  “H-hello?”

  “Hey boss, we got an ID on that face.” It was Sonya Tong, one of his analysts, a girl he was pretty sure had a mini-crush on him.

  “Who is he?”

  “Major Adofo Koroma. He’s in the Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces.”

  “Do we have anything else on him?”

  “Nothing yet. We’ve requested info from the Sierra Leoneans so hopefully we’ll have something in a few hours.”

  Leroux looked down as his fly was unzipped.

  His mouth went dry.

  “O-okay, run his name through everything we’ve got. And don’t wait for the Sierra Leoneans—just hack their system. See if there’s—oh my gawd!” He leaned back as Sherrie took him to a different world.

  “Are you okay, boss?”

  “Um, yeah. See if there’s any connection to the suspects in Norfolk—ugh—and get back to me if you find any—oh gawd—thing else.”

  “Okay, boss. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He ended the call.

  And rolled his eyes into the back of his head.

  Providence Hospital, Washington, DC

  “Let me guess, if you told me who you were, you’d have to kill me?”

  Niner grinned as the FBI agent handed back their IDs. “We’d feel bad about it, I assure you.”

  The man shook his head, a slight smile appearing. He pointed to the elevators and began to walk. “I’m Agent-in-Charge McKinnon. We’ve got the prisoner under guard on the third floor.”

  “Has he said anything?” asked Dawson, noting the heightened security. There was no pretense of keeping it unobtrusive today, not with such a high profile terrorist event. Armed, uniformed police and FBI were at every entrance and patrolling the halls, IDs being randomly checked.

  Tension was high.

  With nobody claiming responsibility, but it not a lone wolf one-off, the assumption had to be they were part of a larger, coordinated group and that they might want their man back.

  Or dead.

  No risks were being taken, not with him possibly being the only person left alive in the country who might know where the Vice President’s daughter was.

  “He hasn’t said a peep, not even the usual anti-Western kill-all-the-infidels-Allah-is-great garbage they usually spout. This guy’s been completely silent.”

  The elevator doors opened and they boarded, an armed officer standing at the rear. He nodded at the n
ew arrivals. McKinnon hit the button for the third floor as the guard stepped forward, waving off anyone else from boarding. The doors closed.

  “Interesting,” observed Dawson. “Even at the hostage taking their demands seemed secondary. Makes me wonder if this is Islamist related at all.”

  McKinnon shrugged. “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it is, but there’s always that one and this could be it.” The bell chimed and the doors opened, more armed guards challenging them. They handed over their IDs. “If it isn’t Islamists, I don’t know how I feel about that. The last thing we need are more nutbars bringing their hate over here.”

  Dawson stepped aside as a male nurse boarded the elevator, snapping off a pair of latex gloves before pressing the button for the ground floor. Dawson followed McKinnon toward the room just as an alarm sounded and a Code Blue was announced over the speakers. Several medical personnel raced past causing them to hug the wall, two pushing what he assumed was a crash cart.

  “Shit!” McKinnon bolted toward the door the team had just rushed into, Dawson and Niner following, the two guards on either side of the door looking confused. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Nobody inside the room answered, instead vital signs were being shouted out as a doctor prepared the paddles to shock what looked like their suspect. Dawson glanced at the monitor.

  Flatlined.

  “I thought he was stable!” said Niner, stepping back into the hallway.

  “He was!” McKinnon was grabbing at his hair, walking around in a circle. Dawson grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him gently out of the way of one of the medical personnel as they rushed from the room, yanking their gloves off and tossing them into a nearby garbage bin.

  His mind flashed back to the nurse who had boarded the elevator. The man had taken his gloves off in the elevator, something that didn’t make sense now that he thought of it. Any contamination could be spread by not disposing of them immediately after leaving a patient’s room.

  And where was he going to throw them out?

  And if racial profiling was of any benefit today, the man had been black, just like their terrorists.

  “It’s the nurse,” he said, looking back toward the elevators. “Where’s the stairwell?”

  McKinnon froze for a moment, then pointed to the far end of the hall. “End of the hall, left. What nurse?”

  Dawson took off at a sprint. “Make a hole!” he shouted, shocked medical personnel jumping out of the way as he could hear Niner’s footfalls right behind him. “The nurse who got on the elevator as we got off! Find him!” he shouted over his shoulder, McKinnon’s jaw dropping for a moment before he grabbed his radio.

  Dawson rounded the corner and spotted the door for the stairwell. Shoving at the bar, he threw the door open and took the stairs two at a time, grabbing the railing and swinging his legs over to the flight below. The elevator had been indicating it was going down, that much he was certain, he remembered the red light above it when they got off. The man wasn’t in any hurry at the time, and would probably try not to draw any attention to himself, so a calm, steady pace was what Dawson was hoping for.

  They burst through the ground floor doors and into a busy hallway, much to the surprise of the public in their way. Dawson pulled his ID as he approached two guards. “You two with us!” he ordered as he blew past them. He had learned long ago that simply acting as if you were in charge was enough for most soldiers and law enforcement to fall in line.

  And these two did.

  The four of them tore toward the elevators, Dawson keeping his eyes peeled the entire time.

  “Anything on our suspect?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Negative,” replied one of the officers.

  Dawson rounded the corner and spotted the doors of the elevator he had taken earlier beginning to close.

  “Hold that door!” he shouted, diving toward the elevator, skidding along the tile floor. His hand caught one side of the door just as it was about to close, halting his skid as they closed over his fingers.

  He winced.

  But the safety mechanism kicked in and the doors opened, Niner advancing with his weapon drawn as Dawson jumped to his feet, the other two officers, not sure what was going on still, pulling their own weapons.

  Dawson looked inside, knowing full well their suspect wouldn’t be there.

  That wasn’t why he had stopped it.

  He looked at the officer riding the elevator. “Nurse, male, black, got on at the third floor just as we were getting off. Where’d he go?”

  The man looked startled for a moment, then his eyes narrowed as he tried to remember. “He got off here. Went left.”

  Main doors.

  Dawson bolted toward the main entrance, pointing at one of the officers. “Call it in, last spotted on the ground floor heading toward the main entrance. We need someone on the cameras, now!” He didn’t bother making sure the officer was following his orders, he simply knew he would. The split second he would waste making sure the man actually grabbed his radio and relayed the correct information could mean the difference between stopping their man before he climbed in a getaway vehicle, or watching that same vehicle pull away, out of range.

  “Make a hole!”

  They shoved through the main doors, hitting the cold autumn air of Washington. It was nighttime but the area was well lit allowing Dawson to scan the area left to right. There were scores of people within sight. His eyes came to rest on a garbage bin, something light green catching his attention. He pointed. “Check that.”

  One of the officers grabbed the item and held it up.

  Nurse’s top.

  “He’s not wearing a jacket!” He ran down the steps and farther away from the building, his trained eye rapidly scanning and dismissing candidates, wrong color, wrong sex, wrong build.

  Bingo!

  He pointed. “There he is!”

  He sprinted across the several lanes of traffic, a taxi almost taking him out, honking his horn and shouting at him. The screech of the tires and the blast of the horn were loud enough for the suspect to turn to see what was happening.

  And realize that he was made.

  The man sprinted for the parking lot, keys being fished from his pocket. Dawson took his eyes off the man and instead focused on the cars, watching for flashing lights, listening for the chirp of an alarm system disengaging.

  Lights flashed to the left, the man obviously not remembering exactly where he had parked.

  Dawson sprinted toward the car rather than the man, saving precious steps in the race, the sound of feet pounding behind him, orders being shouted over the radios by the officers, told him there was no way their suspect was getting away.

  But they needed him alive.

  Dawson drew his weapon.

  “Halt!” he shouted, his weapon aimed directly at the man’s chest.

  The man continued to run, reaching his car, Dawson within fifty feet. The man yanked his passenger door open, a red flag raised as Dawson realized he was going for something in his glove compartment. There could be only one possibility.

  “Gun!”

  The man spun, the weapon gripped in his hand. Dawson resisted shooting him, wanting to take the man alive.

  But he wasn’t given the option.

  The man raised the gun to his chin and looked directly at Dawson.

  “For my people!”

  He squeezed the trigger, the gun firing, tearing a hole through the top of his head. He collapsed to the pavement in a heap, a pool of his own blood quickly forming as Dawson arrived, kicking the gun aside.

  Niner knelt down beside the man and checked for a pulse, a useless but necessary gesture. He shook his head.

  “Goddammit!” Dawson kicked the tire of the man’s car then stepped back.

  Niner holstered his weapon, shaking his head. “It looks like we’re going in blind.”

  Somewhere in Sierra Leone

  Sarah was impressed. The spirit of these people, even the
sick, was inspiring. When the sick and dying had been told of what was needed of them, those who could walk hadn’t hesitated to help the others, especially once it was explained to them that if they could move themselves, it could help prevent the spread. She and Tanya had helped since they were suited up, but nobody else had been needed. Volunteers had set up blankets on the ground outside and the thirty-three people inside were moved out into the open.

  Half a dozen volunteers in protective gear first swept up everything inside, the supply trucks used to take it a mile outside of town to be burned. Water hoses and pumps were then used to spray everything down, bleach mixed in with the drums of water to try and disinfect every surface. It took hours, but when it was done, it was unrecognizable.

  “Now we can try to save some lives,” she said to Tanya, her arm over her friend’s shoulders. Focusing on the work had resulted in Tanya staging a remarkable recovery. They were both exhausted, but the day was young, it barely noon. The women of the village had set up tables in the street and food was being brought out for the volunteers, the entire community contributing, but avoiding contact, her warnings apparently being heeded.

  She just hoped those preparing the food weren’t infected, or living with someone who was. She had insisted Major Koroma personally confirm the households that were contributing food were free of obviously infected people, and he had obliged her, she getting a sense that the progress they were making was actually encouraging him that there might be hope.

  “We need to set up a triage area,” she said. “We’ll put the dying at the far end of the room and make them as comfortable as possible. Those we think we can save we’ll put at the center, and those we’re not sure are infected we’ll put at the front.”

  Koroma frowned. “Why put them together? Don’t you risk spreading the disease?”

  “No. You only enter through this door at the front of the room, and exit through the rear. Each section will be separated. We’ll hang sheets to delineate the areas. In the first area we keep each person isolated from each other as best as possible so that if someone is infected, they don’t spread it to others. Once we’ve confirmed they are infected, we move them to the next area and try to treat them. That section is only for people already infected, so we don’t need to worry about spreading the disease from the first section to the second, nor do we need to worry about spreading from the second to third areas, since they’re infected as well.”