by Kipjo Ewers
“Records show he was going to Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center,” said Dustin always with the answer on his lips.
“We need to get his records, and whoever he was seeing while he was there. I’d also like to get a personal interview with General Matheson,” Mark quickly decided.
“You know this is walking right into military territory,” cautioned Dustin.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if we’re stepping into the Pope’s territory,” Mark responded officially fed up, “It’s time we get some real goddamn answers…it’s time we get the truth.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
September 6, 2008, 5:00 PM Eastern Standard Time, “Low profile…low profile…,” she said to herself repeatedly as she walked with her head down in the streets of D.C. She had been there for most of the day undetected since arriving around 8 O’clock yesterday.
After the battle in Texas and making it to the nation’s capital, she decided it best to stay under the radar until she figured out her next step. As she told Charles, she had taken some of the money he had kept for her, lining the back of her former Goth jacket with bailout money in case she could not go back to his apartment. It was also the reason why she really gave Mercer the dirty look when he shot her in the back during the chase. Luckily, the semi-automatic bullets from his Heckler & Koch did not riddle all of her spending cash. She found a seedy motel to take a much-needed hot shower, and stay off the streets until morning where she could go shopping for some much-needed clothes. Not that she didn’t stop along the way to change her bullet riddled outfit before getting to Washington; her black and white Converse which served her faithfully since she acquired them in Cypress finally gave out halfway between Arkansas and Tennessee. She stopped at a Sports Authority in Memphis to acquire two pairs of decent running shoes, a running outfit, and a new book bag.
When business opened in DC, She went on a part shopping part recon mission.
While casing the neighborhood of the building that was the target of her harebrained plan, she purchased some new black jeans, a pair of cute mid heel boots in her size, a new black hooded sweatshirt and a nice blue slim racing jacket. In her hand was a bag full of other items she purchased along with something to eat from Taco Bell.
Now she was heading back to the motel, not that she really needed any sleep; she felt it was best to stay off the streets especially in the Nation’s Capital. Her confrontation with the General got her nowhere, and although she escaped once again she did not achieve what she set out to do, she was no closer to finding out who the D.E.A.D was or any additional leads on how to find them, her name was plastered all over the news, and people were now generally afraid of her. People looking at her as the bad person did not serve her cause. She needed to figure out a new tactic in order to achieve her goal.
She thought about seeing her parents one last time, but that was now out of the question. She figured their house would now be crawling with agents and probably the military; the last thing she needed was to bring a firefight like Houston to where they lived. They would have to go on without seeing her for a little while longer.
As she walked aimlessly down Good Hope Road she did not notice that she walked past a bunch of “brothers” gawking and making cat calls beckoning her to holler at them (street slang for come over and talk to them); she just kept walking; heading back to her motel room where she could get her thoughts in order.
“Well fuck you ya nasty bitch!” shot out one of the men named Deuce.
Deuce stood about six foot six with two hundred and seventy pounds of pure muscle in a black ribbed tank top that appeared as if it was struggling to stay on him, while his jeans pants fought to stay up under his rear revealing his blue and white striped boxers. All Sophia heard was the buzz of a bug she could crush, sticking to her keep a low profile mission was the only reason she was being merciful.
“Nobody wants yo funky…,” Before he could even finish his next lewd sentence she turned on her heel dropping her bags and was airborne a good twenty feet up, when she landed, it was with a double ax handle smash to the hood of his custom Escalade with the trimmings.
She figured it was his considering he was standing right next to it, while it was pumping Black Rob’s “Whoa” from its custom system inside.
Sophia remembered…she hated bugs, especially the annoying ones that did not know when to stop buzzing.
The impact was equivalent to a fifty-ton construction beam dropped from 100 feet up, caving in the front of the SUV, obliterating the engine, blowing out his two front tires along with his front window, and crushing his two front custom twenty-six inch rims. The back end of the SUV shot up as if it was doing a handstand before crashing violently back down to Earth. Deuce stood in the same spot he was in not moving an inch, covered in fresh new sweat as his associates who were laughing and giggling at his remark earlier laid sprawled out on the floor beyond terrified at what they just witnessed.
The neighborhood became alive as people either stuck their heads out of their windows or ran out from wherever they were to see what the hell had happened. Sophia pulled herself off the top of his obliterated SUV with her hood covering the upper half of her face.
She turned walking up to get face to face with a traumatized Deuce, “Who’s the bitch now…bitch?”
She did not even wait for him to answer, whether it was to apologize or beg for his life as she turned walking away to pick up her bags before taking a few steps and leaped into the air to get some distance between her and the incident speeding off in heels.
The second she left, the masses came flocking around to witness the destruction she had unleashed on Deuce’s now deceased vehicle as his friends flocked around him frantically asking him if he was all right. Deuce just stood there with that blank distressed expression looking in the direction Sophia sped.
Six buildings away Sophia turned into a back alley and fast walked out of it into the street with hood still up and head down trying to keep a low profile once again. She cursed herself for losing her temper back there. The over grown punk son of a bitch was not even really worth it she thought to herself, she could have walked away and ignored him, but the minute he opened his mouth it was like claws in the back of her brain and she just had to take him down a peg, actually several pegs.
However, her male castration via “vehicular manslaughter” had now drawn attention to her current location sooner than she wanted. She knew she had to go up against the law again, and she was serious about not running, but she still needed to pick her battles for the time being staying under the radar.
Soon the entire country, probably the world would know about her and everything happening under their noses. For now constant movement and staying under the radar until the right time had to be her religion. For breaking one of the commandments, she had to leave the state altogether, and find another place to crash and burrow in until the mayhem she caused cooled down a bit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the other side of the country, Director Rosen sat at his desk holding a piece of banana as a black and white spider monkey greedily reached out to grab it.
“Remember Cornelius,” Director using baby talk on the monkey, “Do not grab…do not…”
Despite his command the little spider monkey snatched the piece of banana from his grip quickly chomping down on it, as he looked up at the Director who just smiled at it wagging his finger, “Naughty little spider monkey…naughty…naughty…”
In the middle of his playful scolding, his telecom emitted a high-pitched ring tone startling the spider monkey a bit.
The Director rolled his eyes with annoyance as he answered it, “What is it Ms. Barrett?”
“Sir the target has been reported seen in the nation’s capital,” she reported.
“In less than twenty-one hours,” he said to himself, “Most impressive…”
“Sir,” she began to interject, “The team has also completed the operator training.”
“
And the other matter?” he asked talking in code.
“Agent Slater is in route with a team to collect the package as we speak,” she confirmed.
“The minute he’s confirmed pick-up, ready the team, and the necessary equipment for a trip down to Washington DC,” he instructed.
“Sir,” Mr. Barrett asked a bit concerned, “You’re going to attempt an extraction in the nation’s…?”
“Thank you for carrying out your orders Ms. Barrett,” he said as a hint for her to do her duty and not to question him.
“Yes sir,” she said taking the hint.
The Director turned off the telecom, as he broke off another piece of the banana holding it up for an anxiously waiting Cornelius, “Daddy’s going to capture a god…isn’t that wonder Cornelius? Yes it is…don’t grab…don’t…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Six hours and forty-four minutes later, Armitage and Mercer stood on Good Hope Road side by side inspecting what was left of the SUV belonging to Deuce; around them agents and reporters subjected themselves to the hood interview accounts of various eyewitnesses to the woman who laid waste to Mr. Deuce’s vehicle with a single superhuman blow.
Taken from the account of the typical street interviewee verbatim, “Yo son, I saw it wit my own eyes son. Shortie took two steps, and leaped into da mafuckin stratosphere an shit, den came down on homie’s whip on some incredible juggernaut destruction type shit like blouw! An I was like “Ooooooooo shit!” Blew out da nigga’s windows and everythang…den she just rolled off his shit, called him a bitch and took off in a single mufuckin bound dataway! Left him cryin and shakin next to his busted up whip and shit…wit snot runnin out of his nose an shit…I ain’t neva seen no shit like dat son!”
Deuce’s interview went a bit differently, “I was standing next to my vehicle talking to some old acquaintances when this…this woman came from out of nowhere and laid waste to my vehicle! Honestly I don’t even think she was a woman!”
“Acquaintances?” shot back one of his friends who evidently called himself Tru Dat, “Who da fuck you callin “acquaintances”?”
The agent he was talking too actually learned that the hardcore thug known as Deuce’s actual name was Nathanial Walters, a Harvard graduate working on his Masters and an attorney for a very reputable law firm who actually lived in the prestigious Georgetown area of DC. The agent derived a conclusion that Mr. Walters a.k.a Deuce was just was a wannabe thug who happened to hang out with his going nowhere friends from the old neighborhood from time to time just to boost his ego.
It also did not help that Mr. Walters gave his acquaintance Tru Dat the “talk to the hand” sign officially losing all street cred, “Please! I am talking to a federal agent here! Please!”
“Dat’s why supashortie wrecked yo shit…bitch,” shot back Tru Dat.
Nathanial Walters ignored him wanting to know what the federal agent he was talking too was going to do about his car, “I am a taxpaying citizen, a corporate attorney for Pendergrass and Munich, and I need to know what you intend to do about this? What am I supposed to tell my insurance company?”
“Tell em da truth,” laughed Tru Dat, “Supahead Randy Savaged yo shit!”
“You can walk home!” Walters pointed at him having enough.
“You walking home too bitch…” Tru Dat shot back.
“We’re trying to do everything we can sir,” the agent said trying to calm the situation down, “Just need to ask you a few more questions.”
“Well…at least now we know where she is…” Dustin let out.
Mark glanced over to Dustin as if he wanted to really take out his service piece and shoot him, when Executive Assistant Director Douglas King walked up to them none too happy.
A former military man himself hailing from the Army Special Forces he still wore the traditional military crew cut, which matched his granite exterior. Like Armitage and Mercer, he worked his way through the ranks, but knew when it was time to get out of the field and let the young blood take over while he sought a leadership position for better pay and a corner office.
Half of him respected his two senior officers because they were war dogs just like him, the other half wanted to take them behind the tool shed because of their dual lack of respect for authority and old dog mentality.
Currently his patience was officially nonexistent seeing as how the situation that was supposed to be contained in Texas had traveled from the Midwest to the most important state in the country.
“Enough is enough,” King muttered, “I’m heading this case…Sophia Dennison has now been moved up to the very top of the most wanted list...we’re locking down DC…kill on site…that’s the order.”
“And how do you expect to do that Doug,” Mark asked not even looking at his boss, “When bullets have no effect on her? You gonna start issuing out tanks to us?”
“That’s Executive Assistant Director,” King reminded him, “And in case you haven’t notice your goddamn fugitive is now in the nation’s goddamn capital!”
“And this is our fault,” Mark no longer giving a damn about rank and title went off, “Because we’ve dealt with super humans before, so we should know how to take her down right? Because we forgot to carry the green rock that went with our goddamn service pieces!”
“No one is blaming you Mark,” King squared off with him toe to toe, “But you are two seconds from getting shit canned if you don’t start both addressing and respecting the title I’ve earned! Now if this is too much for you, you can go home Special Agent…”
Mark gave him that “you can’t drag me away” look, as Dustin placed a hand on his shoulder gesturing for him to calm down if he wanted to stay in this.
“Now, allow me to reiterate this again,” King issued his final order, “Sophia Dennison is officially a terrorist of the United States of America at the top of the list; which means you are authorized to use any means necessary to find her and to stop her! The order is to kill on sight…that means if you need a fucking tank to take her down…get one. Is that clear?”
“What about our report?” Mark bit back grinding his teeth.
“The one implicating a decorated Four Star General is in association with a fictional death squad under this government corroborated by a dishonorably discharged soldier, a friend of the terrorist fugitive, and the terrorist fugitive herself…how should I answer that?” King glared with sarcasm, “Let me simplify it for you...there is no death squad, and stay the hell away from General Matheson…is that also clear?
King does not wait for a response as he marched away. Armitage bowed his head fighting to control his rage; Mercer moved in front of him to block him from possibly tackling King from behind and beating him in the middle of the street, although the old man looked like he would give Mark a hell of a fight.
“We’ll strengthen security around the capital,” Dustin began shooting off ideas, “Get birds in the air, drones, cameras, and all the man power we can muster…we’ll find her.”
Mark let out a frustrated laugh, “And do what Dustin? Besides piss her off, and cause billions of dollars in mass destruction trying to stop her, not to mention getting a lot of people hurt or worse?”
Dustin looked around baffled, “Why the hell did she come here in the first place? Why not New York or LA like they do in the movies? It’s as if she’s looking for a fight.”
Mark took in a deep breath and released it finally calming down, “That’s exactly what she’s looking for…she believes a government sanctioned death squad murdered her husband and turned her world upside down, what better stage for a confrontation than right here? She’s here to call out those responsible.”
“So what do we do?” Dustin asked his partner with the plan.
Mark no longer had one as he shrugged his shoulders in defeat, “We wait…for the shit to hit the fan…and pray we don’t get buried by it.”