by Margaret Kay
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She carried her things into the house, her thoughts still on the session with Sam Shepherd. Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry. She opened and closed her refrigerator, her cabinets, and her pantry. Nothing looked appealing. Mexican would have been good. Damn. A new wave of sadness washed through her.
Once the Lear was in the air after the pickup of Jimmy ‘Taco’ Wilson, Mike ‘Powder’ Rogers, and Carter ‘Moe’ Tessman of Charlie Team, Shepherd initiated a video call with the three of them and Garcia. “Once you land in Atlanta, I will place a call to St. Vincent to get his location. Once the witness is in your custody, you will retrieve the flash drive with the evidence on it from wherever he has hidden it, by any means necessary, and you will then bring him to the Silo. The Lear will remain on the ground in Atlanta waiting for you, so make it as fast as possible. He testifies via a secure video chat the day after tomorrow, on Sunday at a special session. Instructions regarding him will be relayed after that testimony.”
“Do we know if he is a cooperative witness?” Wilson asked. “Is he our guest or our prisoner?”
“St. Vincent said he is skittish; knows he’ll be dead if we can’t protect him. Hold his hand and make sure he knows you got him but watch for him to rabbit.”
Shepherd ended the call and reheated a plate of enchiladas, rice, and refried beans. As he sat alone at his kitchen table, his deep thoughts centered on Diana. She couldn’t wait to get out of there tonight. He again analyzed the factors that could have caused her reaction.
She was a doctor. It could not have been that he had gotten an erection, though maybe it had made her feel threatened. There was nothing in her file about a prior sexual assault, not that that was definitive proof something had never occurred. Just the thought that someone could have hurt her that way flared his protective instincts.
He wondered if just the fact that he did get an erection, made her feel betrayed. Was it some weird-ass dividing line coming into play on the properness of doctor-patient relationship, though she’d stayed for dinner several times? Certainly, she realized that since she had, it caused their interactions to be more casual. And he had felt that their interactions bordered on flirty at times. No, it couldn’t be that either.
Was it that he had walked and fell, endangering her when she tried to help? She had told him not to, and he disregarded her opinion. Did she take it as disrespectful? Was that what it was about? He would never want her to feel that he did not value her as a doctor. She had helped him immensely already. Just the fact that he felt capable of walking unassisted proved that.
That left him asking her to leave the room so he could take the phone call. That had to be it. If it was, he felt bad that it had bothered her that much. He would have to have a conversation with her tomorrow to smooth things over. He missed her this evening. He’d already become accustomed to her having dinner with him, on the evenings she was there to provide therapy.
Later that evening Shepherd facilitated a call to coordinate Garcia and the team connecting with St. Vincent for the transfer of the witness. From his office he logged in and stayed on comms during the meet, which took place at a large bar in the hotel district. St. Vincent always arranged meets at public places. It drove Shepherd crazy. Shepherd preferred to have private meets where his men could easily recon the area for the presence of others. And if something went south, there was a greater chance of collateral damage if it was in public.
Garcia wore a button camera. Shepherd watched the feed along with Smith and Jackson in Ops. His men entered the bar and split up. It was dark with a neon lights that hung on the walls advertising various alcoholic beverages. Garcia and Wilson paired up to meet with St. Vincent while the two others watched from nearby to provide cover.
Garcia had met St. Vincent before. The other men had not. Shepherd watched them approach the bar, far to the left where the servers got their orders filled as St. Vincent had designated for the meeting location. The hallway that led to the bathrooms and the kitchen, and presumably another door out of the establishment, was tucked back into the corner.
“Does someone have eyes on that hallway?” Shepherd asked.
“Roger, that,” Mike ‘Powder’ Rogers' voice replied.
“And the front door too,” Carter ‘Moe’ Tessman added.
“I’m sure Vinnie is already in the building someplace,” Garcia said. “I can feel him watching me.”
“Did he say how many men he’d have?” Wilson asked.
“Knowing him, it will be a team of two,” Shepherd said. “Plus, the client.”
Shepherd listened, watched and waited a long seven minutes. Finally, through the camera feed, he saw the familiar face of St. Vincent beneath an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. He bellied up to the bar beside his men.
“Nice hat,” Garcia said.
The camera feed showed a man with St. Vincent. He was African American, at least forty years old, about the same height as St. Vincent, five-eleven, and he looked heavy. His neck was thick, his cheeks round beneath the Atlanta Falcons cap he wore.
“You ready?” St. Vincent asked.
“Consider the handoff made,” Garcia said. “We’ve got you now,” he said to the black man. “What can we call you?”
“Augie,” he said, his voice a baritone rumble.
“As I said, you can trust these men,” St. Vincent said to him. “Take care.” Then he removed his hat and handed it to the man. They switched hats and then St. Vincent moved away.
“Powder, move in and take the stupid-ass hat. We’ll have you leave wearing it,” Garcia broadcast. “Moe, take a smoke break out front and keep watch.”
Shepherd’s lips pulled into a grin. This was why he would not let Garcia just work from HQ, as he would prefer. Garcia wanted to stay shut up in a hidey-hole with his fingers on a keyboard. Garcia was too damned good in the field. He had street smarts, and instincts developed from a lot of time spent deep undercover. Plus, he was a no-nonsense straight shooter that he trusted.
Shepherd watched the feed as Powder took the hat from Augie and placed it on his own head. He moved out of the frame, presumably to leave the establishment.
“Leave the coat on the barstool,” Garcia told Augie. Shepherd watched the man remove his jacket. “You got a backpack or anything?”
“No, got nothing. Had to flee with no personal effects,” his baritone voice spoke.
“A phone on you?”
“No, lost that to get off the grid. Nothing on me that’s trackable.”
Shepherd was really curious what this guy’s story was. He’d find out soon enough.
“Okay, stick close to me. We’re walking out of here together. My team will cover us as we make our way to our vehicle in the side parking lot, a black SUV,” Garcia told the man.
“Cliché and predictable,” Augie muttered. “You may as well put one of these neon signs over it.”
Garcia ignored him. “Moe, follow us and we’ll pick you up on the corner after we clear the parking lot.”
“I’m at the vehicle,” Powder’s voice broadcast. “No eyes that I can make out.” The sound of an engine turning over was heard as he started the car.
Through the video feed, Shepherd watched Garcia and the man make their way to the front door that led out of the bar. His heart beat fast, as it always did when his team was engaged in the field. If St. Vincent had acquired a tail that tracked the hand off, this would be when they would make their move.
“Clearing the door,” Garcia transmitted.
Shepherd saw the black door give way to the outside and the cluster of smokers under the streetlight that Garcia and Augie would have to move through. Moe was strategically at the curbside edge of the smoking group. Garcia passed by him and headed towards the side parking lot.
“Got one man following you,” Moe’s voice announced. “I’m on him.”
Ahead, through the camera feed, Shepherd saw their SUV pull up to the sidewalk. Powder sat in the
driver’s seat. When Garcia and Augie reached it, Garcia swung the back door open and motioned Augie in, in front of him. He climbed in beside him and closed the door fast. Wilson hustled to the passenger side and climbed in the backseat, sandwiching Augie between himself and Garcia. Shepherd saw that both Garcia and Wilson had their .9 mm firearms in their hands. They were ready.
“Show some restraint until you know if the follower is a threat or not,” Shepherd warned.
“If he even so much as twitches, I’m taking him out,” Garcia said.
Through the camera, Shepherd watched the man approach the SUV. He reached into his coat. “Son of a bitch,” Shepherd mumbled. “Wait, wait, wait.”
The man pulled a phone into view and raised it to his ear.
“Hold,” Shepherd warned. He watched the man pass the SUV and continue to walk down the side of it and up to a car parallel parked on the street a few hundred yards ahead. By this time, Moe was in the front passenger seat of the car.
“Go, take a left and go north,” Garcia ordered.
Through the camera feed, Shepherd saw Garcia was turned in his seat, watching the man at the car that had approached.
“He pulled straight out, headed south.”
“Stay on alert to be sure you didn’t pick up a tail,” Shepherd said.
“Now where is this flash drive we need to pick up?” Garcia asked Augie.
“It’s safe. Once I know we aren’t being followed, I will tell you where,” he spoke in his deep voice.
“Get on the expressway, we’ll get off at the next exit and circle a few blocks to be sure,” Garcia ordered. “Can you tell me from here, which direction we need to go?”
“Towards the airport,” Augie said.
After twenty minutes of driving in circles, through parking lots, onto vacant streets, they were sure they had no tail. Powder set course for Hartsfield Jackson International Airport, where their plane was not at. Garcia and Wilson told Augie to stop tapping his fingers or his feet several times. Shepherd could tell he was driving them both crazy with his nervous fiddling.
“Okay, so where are we going?” Garcia asked him.
“There is a Baptist Church on College Street just northeast of the airport. I’ll tell you where in the church when we get there.”
“I’m pulling up directions on my phone,” Garcia announced. “Augie, you need to trust us.”
“Obviously, I do. I’m here with you, aren’t I?” His voice was sarcastic.
“When we get to the church, I go in alone, so you have to tell me where it is,” Garcia said. He verbally gave Powder directions to College Street from their location.
“No way,” Augie said.
“Look, this time of night we’ll be breaking and entering. Sorry, but you don’t look like you move in stealth mode,” Garcia said.
Shepherd laughed aloud.
“Rude,” Augie said. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“You can call me Razor,” Garcia said. He pointed to the other men. “That’s Powder, Moe, and Taco.”
“Callsigns, huh?” Augie remarked. “Fine.”
His tone was dismissive. Who the hell was this guy? Shepherd wondered.
The SUV pulled up in front of the church. It was brightly lit, its parking lot full of cars. “What the hell is going on here this late on a Friday night?” Taco asked.
“There is a huge teen ministry here,” Augie said. “They do a teen group program every Friday night until early Saturday morning.”
“You knew this place would be hopping this time of night?” Wilson questioned. “How the fuck are we going to slip in there unnoticed?”
“You’re not. But I can,” Augie said. “This is my church, and I volunteer to help with this program once every month. No one will think twice about seeing me walk through the door.”
“I’m going in with you,” Garcia said. It wasn’t a request.
“If you must,” Augie said.
After they were out of the car, Wilson muttered, “I can’t wait to sedate this motherfucker.”
Shepherd laughed again. “But then you have to carry his fat ass. What do you think he weighs? About three bills?”
“At least,” Powder answered. “He looks like he was once very muscular, probably a bodybuilder or a linebacker. Now he’s a blob of gelatin.”
“With an attitude,” Moe added. “I seriously think St. Vincent just wanted to be rid of him. That is why we were called in. He was probably bugging the shit out of him too.”
“He’s fidgety as hell,” Wilson said. “My six-year-old nephew with ADHD doesn’t move around as much as this guy.”
“Stay focused, gentlemen,” Shepherd said.
“I’m sedating him the second he sits his fat ass in a seat on the jet,” Powder promised.
Shepherd had to chuckle again.
Lima
On Saturday morning, Diana arrived at her practice. Her mind was more at peace than it had been when she went to bed the night before. She had talked herself into being excited for her date with Mike. She checked a few patient notes, and the office staffing for the day. Shortly after she checked her calendar for her patient list, her mom poked her head into her office.
“Hi, Mom,” Diana greeted.
“How are you this morning? I text messaged you last night, and you didn’t reply.”
Diana glanced at her phone. She did have several unread messages. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see your message. I had a long day, class and then the private session with Sam Shepherd. It was late when I got home. I had to eat, and then I did some studying.”
Peggy Palmer came up to her desk and took a seat in one of the guest chairs. “I’m worried you are overextending yourself by doing these house calls. How much longer are you planning to keep up this schedule?”
Diana sighed. “I don’t know. He’s making real progress. Vic was sure that it would just take a few weeks for him to get used to coming here and after that I could shift all his sessions here.”
“What is he, agoraphobic? He seemed quite relaxed every time he’s been in the lobby?”
“No, he’s just extremely busy.”
“And you aren’t?” Peggy asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Once I’m sure he is on the right track, I can pass his therapy off to one of my therapists. It’s just too soon.” Even as she said it, she knew she wasn’t being completely honest. Before the previous evening, she had not planned to pass him off to anyone. The simple fact was that she liked the man, probably in an inappropriate way, and she knew she could help him.
“Once in a while you need to put yourself and your needs first, Diana,” Peggy said gently.
“I know, Mom. My day going to his place isn’t any longer than if I come back here to finish work after class, which I’m not doing. When I leave his place, I go straight home.”
She didn’t tell her mom that up until last night she’d stayed and had dinner with him every night. She maintained strict boundaries with her mother about her love life or the lack of it as the case usually was. Peggy Palmer wanted her to get married and give her grandchildren like her brothers and one of her sisters had. It was just easier to not share too much with her. Her mom was from a different generation, had different priorities when she was her age. She loved her mom but would not debate her choices with her. Her mom didn’t understand her focus on work and school. She had a clear vision for her practice and right now, her life was about realizing that dream. She loved her life just the way it was, something her mother didn’t understand.
“That’s good to know. Just take care of yourself, Diana.” Peggy stood and then left the room.
Shepherd put the vehicle in park just as his phone rang. He was in front of Diana’s practice, in what was becoming his Saturday routine. This time, though, he wasn’t nearly as optimistic about seeing her. Her abrupt departure the previous evening still needed to be discussed. He checked the display. It was St. Vincent. “Vinnie, nice of you to finally get back to me.”
“Yeah, no issues.”
“Good. I spent the last twelve hours trying to turn the tables on the jokers following me and my partner, a near body double for the witness, from that bar. These fuckers weren’t out to kill him, wanted to take him so that tells me they are worried about whatever he has being released if he’s dead.”
“Are you in danger? Do you need one of my teams?” Even as he offered, he knew it would have to be the four remaining members of Alpha Team that got sent and he didn’t want to send Jackson with Angel so close to delivering.