She sat there for a long time. Silent. JC waited.
“Me.”
Chapter 7
Tell Him I’m Coming
JC was motionless. Frozen. Mrs. Marcus cried softly, and then stopped. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks. JC handed her his pocket kerchief. Undid his tie. Took it off. Unbuttoned the top button of his collar. Mrs. Marcus wiped her eyes.
“I…” He didn’t know where to begin.
“JC, please listen.”
He held up his hand. The senator stopped. What she was asking? The difficulties were tremendous. Professional, political. Personal. He needed time. So she gave it. She looked out the window. Her last spring.
“I’m dying. I have Stage 4 cancer. It started in my stomach, but it’s everywhere now.” Paused. “I won’t live another six months.”
JC gripped the steering wheel.
“I don’t want to die in a hospital bed. Numbed up with pain medication. Not myself. I want to be done soon. But I can’t do it on my own. I need help. It needs to be professional. Like an accident.”
He couldn’t look at her.
“No.”
Mrs. Marcus opened her mouth to protest, but JC was already out of the vehicle. He walked back to his team and the waiting Secret Service agents, his suit jacket still open. He was halfway to the library when Mrs. Marcus stepped from the Santa Fe and started walking back as well.
Kowalski saw Bannister walking back before the rest of his team noticed and he broke into a run. Across the deserted parking lot. Onto the grass, slightly damp now. The president’s executive order tasked the Secret Service with protecting the senator’s life. Over time, the job had morphed into protecting her reputation as well. Now the senator was walking across a park in the middle of the night. Walking after a much younger man. Who she had just spent time with in an SUV. Alone. A lid needed to be tamped down on the situation. Hard. Before some random citizen with their stupid cellphone started taking videos.
Kowalski ran up to JC. Hands raised to stop him. A million questions ran through his mind except the most important one: How will Bannister interpret my actions?
The answer was poorly.
JC saw a man he no longer trusted trying to put his hands on him. Trying to stop him. He reacted.
The hard right to Kowalski’s gut halted him in his tracks. Doubled him over. JC grabbed his lapels, lifted him up, swept his feet out from under him and slammed him into the grass, knocking the wind out of him.
Kowalski’s team saw their leader go down. M4 assault rifles, Remington 870 shotguns and H&K submachine guns came out of everywhere. Even the drivers exited their vehicles, SIG Sauer 9mms drawn. They all came running to their boss’s aid.
Joan grabbed the barrel of the M4 held by the agent poorly guarding her. Twisted it to her left. Stepped in. Hit the man in his Adam’s apple with the webbing of her right hand. Down and out. She held onto the weapon as the agent collapsed to the pavement. Kicked him in the head to turn out his lights. Joan turned and ran to the corner of the library. Got behind the building. Behind cover but more importantly at an angle where Bannister might not be directly in her line of fire.
The agent guarding Duke involuntarily turned to check on the ruckus in the park. Turned back to see Duke’s MP5 compact submachine gun pointed at his forehead. Duke extended his off-gun hand. The agent gave him the assault rifle, barrel still pointed at the ground. Turned, faced the park. Kneeled. Laced his hands together on top of his head. Closed his eyes tight, turning everything dark. Duke smashed the butt of the agent’s own rifle into the back of the kneeling man’s head, turning everything dark for his immediate future.
Duke ran towards the park. Joan whistled loud enough for Duke to hear. He found her and changed his plan. Ran to the SUV closest to the park. Took the keys out of it, threw them on top of the library. Crawled underneath the government SUV. Waited. Any shots fired in the park and the only person possibly coming back alive would be JC. Duke and Joan would kill every last person out there.
JC was half-kneeling on Kowalski, one foot on the ground, one knee on the agent’s chest, yelling questions at him. Kowalski was too busy trying to gasp more air into his lungs to answer. JC put his handgun underneath the man’s chin, ready to exit his brains out the top of his head. He was too busy to hear Kowalski’s team running up. Didn’t hear the sounds of rounds being chambered into various weaponry. Didn’t hear them hollering and yelling as law enforcement officers are wont to do.
Kowalski did. He looked overhead. As finely trained as the agents were, there was always the possibility that adrenaline and loyalty would override their training and good sense. He tried to twist his arm free, tried to signal to his team.
That’s when JC started smashing him in the face with the butt of his gun.
Kowalski bucked and rolled until JC lost his balance. He kicked at JC’s testicles but missed, hitting the inside of his left leg. A good shot still. Gave Kowalski time to scramble up. He didn’t bother reaching for his weapon, just swung hard at JC’s head. Normal situation, JC would’ve avoided the obvious haymaker. But he was half out of his mind and put up his guard too late, allowing the powerful blow to glance against his skull, dazing him.
No shots had been fired yet, but the noise of the fifteen agents bellowing at him finally filtered through JC’s brain. He raised his pistol and pointed it at Kowalski’s head.
“JC, man. JC. Calm down. This can all get sorted out, buddy.” Hands raised, placating.
“Did you know? Huh?” Took a step forward. “That’s what you think I am? That’s what you really think I am?”
“I swear to you, I don’t know what was said in that car. Honest to Christ I don’t. But whatever it was, we can get this figured out. Just old friends sorting through a problem. Trying to find a solution.”
JC stepped forward again. Put the barrel of the gun directly against Guy’s forehead.
“Don’t you talk about solutions! Don’t!”
“Sir, we have your back. What is your order?” One of Kowalski’s agents spoke behind him. JC didn’t even bother to look at him.
“You don’t have a goddamn thing, Oldham. Do you see where the barrel of his gun is, you dumbass?” Silence. “Matter of fact, put your guns down.”
“Sir?” another agent replied.
“Lay your weapons on the grass, agent!”
“Can’t do that sir.”
“Look at your background. Who is in your line of fire behind this man?”
Kowalski had their attention now. His voice rose as he regained more of his breath.
“You swore an oath to protect the senator, but every single one of you has her in your line of fire. Lower your guns and place them on the grass! Now!”
All weapons were on the ground in under ten seconds. JC backed away from Kowalski a step, taking the muzzle of his pistol off his forehead. Threw a left jab, popping Kowalski right in the nose.
“JC!” the senator called from behind. She was almost to the group. “Stop that this instant.”
JC turned away from Kowalski and walked back to her, gun still in his hand. Some of the agents reached for their weapons.
“Don’t touch a single thing,” Kowalski hissed. “This man will not hurt the senator. Ever.”
JC was fuming, ping-ponging between anger, shame and fear. And the senator, despite her request, was still a mother figure to him. The woman who had fixed JC was fuming, ping-ponging between anger, shame and fear. And the senator, despite her request, was still a mother figure to him. The woman who had fixed him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when they went to the circus as a big group of Army friends and family. An experienced soldier and solutionist, JC truly did not know what to do. The senator took his weak-side arm. Guided him back to the Santa Fe, out of earshot of the agents. Made no effort to convince him to put his gun away. Comforting. Mothering.
“JC, it’s ok.”
“No, it’s very not ok.”
“James.”
&
nbsp; “Mrs. Marcus. I… I have to… I can’t…”
“James, nobody can ever know. Not Guy, not your team. Nobody.”
“What you’re asking? I can’t. I just can’t. I have to talk to someone. Please.”
“Who?”
He looked her in the eyes. “The General.”
Senator Marcus visibly relaxed.
“That’s good. I’m glad. He told me you would ask for him.”
“What?”
“He’s the one who gave me your name.”
It took JC a number of seconds before he picked his jaw up off the ground. “He gave you my name? The General thought I might be the one to fix your problem?” His voice rose as he continued.
“Yes, JC. Now quiet down! The General is in New York. Attending a meeting at the UN tomorrow afternoon.”
“You call him. Tell him I’m coming. And tell him I’m pissed.”
JC turned and walked towards the library.
“Clear a path,” Kowalski ordered. His agents complied.
JC stopped. Looked at his old friend, the friendship now in tatters. “You didn’t know?”
“Still don’t, buddy.”
“Meier?”
“Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t.”
“Can’t because I simply don’t know.”
JC looked towards the library. Quickly located Joan and Duke. Pointed his gun at Kowalski’s chest.
“I’m taking one of your SUVs. Don’t report it missing. Don’t track it. I will notify you of its location within forty-eight hours.”
Before Kowalski had a chance to respond, JC called for Duke. The younger man clambered out from under the SUV. Came running up. JC whispered in his ear. Duke straightened. “Sure thing, boss.”
“Oldham,” JC called out. None of the agents moved. “Joan, acquire target,” he said. Loud enough for all to hear. Kowalski stiffened. JC spoke again. “Oldham, my associate has one of your team’s own weapons trained on the senator’s forehead. Step forward or she pulls the trigger.”
Oldham stepped forward.
“Good boy. Now, extend your arms. You’re going to be our little mule.”
Oldham didn’t move. Jaw set, eyes burning.
“Joan!” JC called out again.
Oldham’s arms snapped out straight in front of him. Duke slung his acquired M4 over his shoulder. Began picking up all the shotguns, submachine guns and assault rifles from the trampled grass, placing them like logs of firewood in Oldham’s arms.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kowalski said.
“You think I trust you or any of your team? Think I’m walking or driving away with all this weaponry just lying at your feet? You must be dumber than I imagined.”
Kowalski fumed but could say nothing more. Duke had finished with the long arms and was picking up the various handguns scattered around. Putting them in Oldham’s suit pockets as well as his own.
“Got ‘em all, boss,” Duke said.
“Meet you at the truck,” JC replied. He turned back to Kowalski as Duke marched Oldham back to the SUV at gunpoint. “Lay down. Arms stretched out in front of you.” Kowalski did so. JC pointed at the next closest agent. “You too. Just like him. Right next to him.” The agent did so reluctantly. JC kept going until he had five Secret Service agents lying unarmed on the grass, arms stretched out in front of them. They looked like kids pretending to be Superman.
“Okay, next layer, on top of these guys.”
JC stacked them up in a rough pyramid. He looked over at where they had been standing. Three handguns were on the grass. He put them in his pockets. Squatted down next to Kowalski. “Listen, I hope you know what’s going to happen if any of you guys get up before we’re gone, right?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty clear.”
“Good.” JC patted Kowalski’s head. “Forty-eight hours, Guy. No moves until then. You hear me?”
Kowalski nodded. Difficult because of his arm position. And the stack of bodies on top of him.
JC walked backwards to the parking lot, and then turned and jogged to the lead SUV. Joan and Duke stood next to it. Oldham was out cold, the guns loaded in the back. JC climbed in the driver’s seat as Duke and Joan hopped in. They pulled off, and then stopped. Duke and Joan got back out. Duke retrieved the keys from the rearmost SUV and threw them on top of the library, joining those of the middle SUV. Joan pulled a five inch long push dagger from her waist. Punctured three of the tires on each remaining SUV. The limo was untouched, as was the Santa Fe in the park. She sheathed the dagger. Wheeled, raised the M4 to her shoulder and emptied the magazine into Meier’s Bentley. No more windows. Dozens of bullet holes. Fluids ran onto the ground underneath the car. Only one tire retained air.
JC, Duke and Joan drove away.
Meier, hiding in the backseat of the senator’s limousine, watched them go. Shaking with fear and rage.
Chapter 8
A Cakewalk
Joan asked JC where they were going.
Duke asked him what had happened inside the Santa Fe. And to the Santa Fe since it was Duke’s pet project.
Neither had received an answer. They fell silent. Waiting.
In the military things were cut and dried. A soldier could ask questions and their CO could tell them to follow orders. At which point the soldier shut their mouth and did their job. Or didn’t and found themselves in a world of hurt.
The private sector operated under a different set of rules. Things were a bit more delicate. There was no stockade. No court martial. No fear of a dishonorable discharge or loss of benefits. There was only fear of non-employment. Some outfits used physical violence and threat of murder as ways to keep employees in line. JC had seen how that usually played out — high turnover, low morale, poor performance and eventual death for the boss.
Instead, JC relied on respect and trust. He only considered working with people whose intelligence, instincts and temperament he respected. Only hired those he thought he could trust. Prospective employees with whom he had a personal history or a series of interactions with rose higher in the rankings. The few who proved his trust would remain as long as they desired to. That list of people was not much longer than the two people riding next to him in a stolen government vehicle. Filled with stolen government guns.
If they drove straight through, pushing their luck, they would get to New York around one thirty in the morning. Figure in stopping for food, fuel, supplies plus the talk he knew the team needed to have about what was going to happen next and JC calculated they would arrive in NYC about four a.m. That was with a direct route. Problem was, any remaining trust or faith he had left in Kowalski was gone. He had no idea if the man was going to report the vehicle stolen, try to intercept it with the Secret Service or another government agency, or be a standup guy and just let them use it. So he decided to go the long way to New York. Up to Hagerstown, then Harrisburg. Needed to swing down into Philly for a quick stop. That was the most dangerous leg of this whole journey, going into Philadelphia. Couldn’t be avoided, though. Then backtrack up to Allentown. Approach New York from the west, from Jersey, early in the morning. Meet with the General just before lunch, hopefully around eleven thirty or so. Hopefully.
JC knew that he didn’t need to discuss what happened in the park with Duke and Joan. They were loyal to him. He had put his own life on the line for them numerous times. He knew they would not challenge the decisions he would make. Not directly. But this was an altogether different sort of ballgame for them. They had been working together as a team for three years now. They had encountered some shady situations in the past. Both as a team and individually. However, shadowy government work is far removed from shady dealings in other countries. He had to talk with them about what was happening.
Just not yet.
So he drove. Stopped for gas around ten thirty outside of Frederick, Maryland. Duke started asking very pointed questions about food ten minutes after they left the gas station so they stop
ped at a good, solid diner in Hagerstown. Food was not important — security, solitude and quiet were. They found all three. Plus good food.
*****
Eleven thirty and dinner was finished. It was time. Duke and Joan were subdued. Waiting for JC to start.
“Listen, guys,” he said, pushing his plate back, toying with his cup of tea. “I’ve been in this business for seven years now. Joan, you’ve been with me for five, Duke, three. We’ve done a whole bunch of good for the world. Unfortunately, a fair share of bad as well. I know I’ve asked you guys to do a whole lot of dangerous stuff. And you’ve always impressed me. I’ve never said this, but every time I ask you to do something that seems impossible, you impress the hell out of me. Both of you.”
“But,” Joan said.
JC smiled. Joan always seemed to be one step ahead of him. That was her true value to the team, to him. If Duke was his computer, Joan was his brain.
“But,” JC continued. “This next job.” He shook his head. “It’s different. Personal. Messy. And likely the most difficult problem I’ve ever faced. With or without you.”
“Worse than Bahrain?” Duke asked.
“Far worse.”
“Germany?” Joan asked
“Germany was a cakewalk compared to this.”
“Germany? Hold on, when did we go to Germany?” Duke asked.
“Before your time, Duke,” JC said.
Joan sat back in the faded red sparkling vinyl chair. Germany had nearly gotten her killed. Put JC in the hospital for three months. Made Europe too hot for them for two years. And pretty much forced the German chancellor to resign. If it had been a smaller country, it would have been called a regime change. But for the world’s fourth largest economy, it was referred to as “early elections.”
“Who was that in the limo?” Joan asked quietly.
JC didn’t believe that she didn’t know. As smart as Joan was, he knew she had a fairly good idea about who he had met with. She may not have been able to see her clearly in the dark, clearly enough to make a positive identification. But government plates, Secret Service escort, Alexandria, Virginia. Shouldn’t be too hard to make a guess. She was asking anyway.
The Fixer, Season 1 Page 5