GodMode

by O. K. Mills

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Pike questioned as he answered the call.

  “Breaking protocol. Hate me now, love me later. I don’t have a lot of time, and I couldn’t text you this much information,” the voice said.

  “I’m listening,” said Pike.

  “There was an officer murdered at the scene by January mercenaries. We believe that Brynn James or the civilian helping her may have taken that officer’s badge.”

  “I suspected that someone was helping her. What can you tell me about this civilian?” asked Pike.

  “His name is Jaysiel Spade. Former Marine, multiple tours in Iraq, Purple Heart, Medal of Honor and he’s even had BUD/S training,” the voice responded.

  “BUD/S training? Do you know what year? I might know him.”

  “He’s actually not a SEAL, but I don’t suspect that just anybody gets to go to BUD/S. There’s also no record of any military honors or service beyond what I have shared with you.”

  “Probably quit. It’s not for everybody. And the badge? I assume you’re tracking them through that?” Pike asked.

  “Each badge in the precinct is equipped with RFID software. They use it for inventory within the building, so the range had to be modified in order to cast a wider net. The software will begin downloading to your phone securely in about three minutes. Once it’s installed you can track the badge using your GPS. Just plug in the badge number as the destination, and you’ll be good to go.”

  “Impressive,” Pike admitted.

  “You don’t pay me to be anything less,” the voice responded.

  “What kind of window do I have before the police have this same technology?”

  “I can probably get you two hours. Anything beyond that and my cover will be compromised. Good hunting.”

  The call ended and, as promised, exactly three minutes later Pike watched the software download onto his phone. Once it completed, he opened his GPS app, plugged in the destination and started the car.

  Bear pulled over to the side of the road on Route 29 near a sign that read “Conway Robinson Memorial State Forest.”

  “This can’t be right,” Spade uttered.

  Bear, ignoring him, kept staring at his tablet. He tapped a few buttons, which confirmed that they were now less than a mile away from the location he had for the safe house. However, if those coordinates were correct, then the safe house was in the middle of a forest where tourists could mingle with Virginia’s wildlife.

  “They wouldn’t have a safe house in the middle of a forest, Bear. Would they?”

  “We’ve seen stranger things than that,” Bear answered, stepping out of the Jeep. Spade followed, motioning to Brynn to remain in the vehicle.

  “Can we call him?” Spade asked.

  “He’s your father,” Bear said, shooting Spade a look. Spade looked down at his lap, embarrassed to admit that he didn’t have his own father’s number.

  “I don’t have a number for him, but maybe I can get the number from Tanya? I would think that the safe house has to have some way for you to call the housekeeper?”

  “Nothing that I can see in my data, not by phone at least. Some keepers prefer it that way, especially with the technology available these days. But everybody has Internet access or a cell phone. I just need to trace the signal that leads to nothing,” said Bear.

  “What do you mean, leads to nothing?” Spade asked.

  “He means the point where the signal dies. Chances are a military-grade safe house is going to cut off cell tower service the closer you get to it, kind of like the way your cell phone signal dies the closer you get to CIA headquarters.”

  Heather Wolfe shut the door to her black, unmarked Police Interceptor and slapped Bear Bowden upside the back of his head before giving him a hug. Spade received no such greeting, and it was pretty obvious to anyone observing the scene that there was no love lost between the two of them.

  “You failed to mention that you were with the quitter,” said Heather as she locked eyes with Spade.

  “He also failed to mention that the help he was calling in was completely useless,” Spade retorted, but even as the words fell from his mouth he knew his reply was forced, and he just looked weak. Heather had a way of emasculating him more than anyone else he had ever known.

  It had been several long years since the three of them had been in the same place at the same time. In fact, the last time they were all together, they were dodging machine gun fire, avoiding suicide bombers, or attempting to stay out of the blazing Middle Eastern sun. Iraq seemed like ages ago, but in just one sentence, everything Spade hated about it was right back in his face.

  “That’s your comeback?” Heather laughed. “Spade, you should have quit while you were ahead. That should have been easy enough for you.”

  “I am not a quitter,” Spade spat angrily.

  “Define quitter,” Heather said flatly.

  “Could we not do this now?” Bear said, ever the voice of reason.

  And Bear was ignored. He went back to looking at his tablet.

  “My Purple Heart doesn’t say ‘quitter’ anywhere on it. My Medal of Honor doesn’t say ‘quitter’ anywhere on it.”

  “What about your SEAL ordinance? Do those orders say quitter on them? Yeah, you’d kinda need the actual paperwork first, right? You’d actually have to be a SEAL, but you quit.”

  “I did multiple tours in Iraq and received two decorations. What does my being a SEAL or not have to do with you? Heck, with either of you?” Spade nearly yelled.

  “They don’t even give women that opportunity. You got asked by the commanding effing officer to attend BUD/S, and you quit. You ran off to Nigeria or wherever to meet Jessica Lange in person, and nobody heard from you for years. Was it worth it, Spade? Was quitting really worth it?”

  They all suddenly fell silent as Brynn exited the vehicle to walk over to Spade. She placed her hand on his back and gently rubbed it to calm his anger. He considered her with apologetic eyes before returning his gaze to Heather Wolfe.

  “Who’s the kid?” Heather asked in Bear’s direction, her eyes still on Brynn.

  “That kid is the reason we’re all here. Brynn James, meet Heather Wolfe, vice versa and all that,” said Bear, never actually looking up from what he was doing.

  Brynn walked over to shake Heather’s hand, smiled, then went back to Spade.

  “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Spade? Even R. Kelly waited until they were at least 15. What is she, eight?”

  At this point Spade had heard enough. He walked over to Heather and got right in her face. He glared a warning at her that essentially said, back off before this gets out of hand and I am forced to do something I regret. Heather stood her ground indifferently.

  “If you’re going to stand this close to me, either swing at me or make out with me. Threatening stares are a waste of my time,” Heather grinned at Spade.

  Spade started to walk away, but Heather grabbed his arm.

  “Take your hand off me.”

  “Or what?”

  The question hung there like a dark cloud. Eventually, Heather released Spade’s arm, but she was hardly finished with this.

  “We never did get to fight each other, Spade. Thirteen weeks of boot camp, three weeks of combat training and not one sparring session. It’s like they knew.”

  “What is your point?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Aren’t you even the least bit curious as to whether or not you can take me in a real fight?”

  “No,” Spade answered flatly

  “And why not?”

  “Because I already know the answer.”

  Heather grinned and closed her eyes.

  “First shot goes to you. Make it count.”

  “Come on Spade. Swing at me. Let’s find out…” she thought.

  Spade considered it for several seconds. After he locked eyes with Brynn, however, he unclenched his fists and backed off. Heather was about to taunt him further when
suddenly she felt Bear’s “paw” cover her mouth and pull her back.

  “I’ve figured out where we’re going. You two can beat each other senseless as soon as we get Brynn into the safe house. Let’s move.”

  Heather removed Bear’s hand from her mouth and asked, “And why does this pretty sweet young thing need a safe house, exactly?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  They left their cars parked on the shoulder of the road and walked into the forest on foot.

  Pounding away at the keyboard, Asha sat hunched over her laptop. Next to her was a medium-sized, white box filled with police badges individually wrapped in plastic bags. She had opened one and was studying the backside of it as she wrote code on her computer. Every now and then, she would stop to sip a can of soda.

  Watching her from across the room was Officer Sweeney. Sweeney had been stealing glances at Asha ever since she arrived on the scene at the foster home in Vienna. He had dated his fair share of attractive women, but there was something about Asha that really did it for him.

  “Do you know your bottom lip just sort of dangles there when you stare,” Walker laughed as he walked up to Sweeney.

  “I wasn’t staring.”

  “She is definitely attractive. If I was five years younger…”

  “More like 10, don’t you think?”

  Walker shot Sweeney a harsh look, and they both laughed.

  Sweeney sighed and rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his chin without taking his eyes off Asha. Walker smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Why don’t you just go over there and talk to her? She seems nice enough. She probably won’t bite.”

  “I don’t know, man. You think she’d date another cop?”

  “I’ll tell you who won’t date you. My black ass,” Walker laughed, “Now go over there and strike up a conversation.”

  Sweeney gave Walker a fist pound, gathered up his courage and walked over to where Asha furiously typed away. When he got to her desk, he glanced back at Walker who gave him the thumbs up symbol. Asha was now looking up at him as if to say, how can I help you?

  “Um … hi” said Sweeney.

  Walker face-palmed before going into another area of the precinct while shaking his head. Asha raised her eyebrows, waiting to see if anything of importance would follow. When Sweeney offered nothing but sustained awkward silence, she spoke.

  “You’re Sweeney, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can I help you, Sweeney? I’m a little busy.”

  “Oh, I won’t bother you then,” said Sweeney as he backed away. Unfortunately, as he did so, he knocked over Asha’s can of soda. She quickly grabbed her laptop to move it out of the path of the growing puddle of cola.

  “You clumsy idiot!” Asha snapped.

  “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” Sweeney apologized, looking for anything to sop up the spill. Grabbing some nearby blank pieces of printer paper, he placed them strategically over the spilled beverage, which only served to make a larger mess of things.

  Asha had already moved to another desk. She was typing away again when Sweeney noticed her forgotten smartphone. He quickly grabbed it to save it from the soda.

  Taking account of the mess he made, he just shook his head. Way to go, Sweeney, he thought to himself. As he walked over to return her phone, the screen illuminated and opened to the last text message she had sent. Sweeney couldn’t help but notice the last few texts:

  >>> We may have discovered a way to track the girl.

  >>> Will send coordinates shortly.

  Understood. <<<

  “You left your phone,” Sweeney said as he set it down next to Asha. She hastily checked to see if it was locked. Once she saw that it was, she went back to coding.

  Sweeney made a bee-line for Walker, but he found Walker deep in a conversation with Austin Cole.

  “The press is asking for updates, Walker. We’ve got to give them something,” said Cole.

  “Give them what, exactly? We have what might be a lead—assuming they still even have the badge—and further, assuming your girl ever gets the coding done to increase the range on the tracking,” Walker replied.

  “Asha will get it done. She’s one of my best. But still, we’ve got to produce something. Foster kids get killed, and people want to know what the heck happened—go figure.”

  “We don’t have anything to tell them; nothing solid yet, anyway. What are you going to do? Make up some stuff?”

  “I’ve worked with the press before, Walker. This isn’t my first time sliding on a rubber. I’ll sit down with them, update our progress. You know, the usual evening news bull crap.”

  “I don’t know, Austin. I don’t think we should disclose anything but the facts. I think we should wait.” Walker cautioned.

  “Jaleel White was on television for nine seasons; I can’t get five minutes?”

  Walker shook his head.

  Sweeney who had been standing there listening finally said, “I need to talk you, Walker. It’s important.”

  Looking like the human equivalent of lost puppies, Heather, Brynn, Spade and Bear stood in the middle of an empty field. Bear, tapping his electronics in a frenzy, double-checked everything on his tablet and smartphone. Heather cleared her throat before breaking what was coming up on six minutes of awkward silence.

  “Does Wonder Woman run this safe house? I know she’s into invisible stuff.”

  Bear shot her a glare.

  “Oh come on, Bear. You know that was funny,” Heather teased.

  “It should be right here,” Bear stated, mostly to himself, “I don’t understand.”

  “Not to doubt you, Bear…”

  “Don’t even finish that sentence, Spade. My Intel comes direct from SOCOM. I’m never wrong about these things.”

  “You sure your Intel didn’t come from SexualChocolate.com?” asked Spade as he stifled a giggle.

  Bear glared at him.

  “Sexual what?” Heather asked.

  “Never mind. Inside joke,” said Spade before asking, “Are there any other safe houses we can take her to that are in close proximity?”

  “We can’t risk it. If my Intel has been compromised, which is slowly becoming my fear, I can’t risk putting her in those crosshairs. What about your CIA contacts, Wolfe? Any friendlies we can take Brynn to?”

  “After the attempt on my life, I’m not so certain. I still don’t know who’s behind it.”

  “What about SOCOM, Bear? You’ve got to know somebody?”

  Bear gave it some thought, pacing back and forth. He turned to them with less than a look of confidence on his face.

  “The woman who recruited me into SOCOM out of basic, Winter Harlin, has an office in Fairfax. If we hit 66 we can get to Fairfax in about 40 minutes.”

  “Do you trust her, Bear?” Spade asked.

  “If I can’t trust her, then I can’t trust my own mother. I’ll call her and give her a heads up, see if I can’t get her to see us on short notice.”

  8: At Last

  Pike kept a watchful eye on his phone’s GPS as it guided him to who he hoped was Brynn James. He had to admit that Asha had outdone herself. She was worth every penny she was costing him.

  “How do you know where we’re going,” asked Sharon as she wound her blonde locks around a finger while twirling her butterfly knife in the other hand.

  “See the red dot on the GPS? That’s the girl.”

  Sharon reached for the phone to get a better look.

  Pike slapped her hand away.

  “Look. Do not touch,” he admonished.

  “You are such a jerk sometimes, Marshall.”

  SLAP!

  Sharon had barely gotten the insult out of her mouth before she tasted the pain from her bottom lip. She glanced at the passenger side mirror and saw the beginnings of a bruise that was crimson and deep.

  CRACK!

  Pike was stunned and nearly dropped the phone as Sharon hit him back with unbridled
fury. Rage burned in Pike as he turned slowly to glare at Sharon, almost begging her to do something to further escalate the situation.

  Her chest heaved up and down, and her eyes glared back at him. They both considered the butterfly knife sitting open in Sharon’s lap, eyes now betraying the intentions of hearts.

  “You want that, don’t you?” Pike taunted.

  Sharon remained still and calmed her breathing, her rage holding steady.

  “Go ahead. Pick it up. Cut me from ear to ear. I have a steering wheel in my left hand and a phone in my right; I’m easy pickings.”

  For a moment she actually considered calling his bluff and giving him the red smile he was asking for, but only for a moment. Instead, Sharon gently grabbed his cheeks and kissed him softly on his lips, leaving a tiny bloodstain that she tenderly wiped away with her thumb. After sucking the blood from her finger, she shifted in her seat, looked out of the passenger side window and folded her arms.

  Pike was at a complete loss for words and, if he was honest with himself, felt a tinge of fear with what she might do next.

  “Oh, so that’s it? You’ve got nothing to say?” Pike asked.

  “We’ve all got to sleep sooner or later, don’t we, Marshall?” Sharon stated so casually that Pike knew she was deadly serious.

  They rode in silence for several minutes before Pike, in a pitiful attempt to extend an olive branch, held the phone out once more for Sharon to see.

  She ignored him, proud of herself for not crying and controlling her sniffling.

  “See the red dot? That’s her.” Pike repeated.

  Sharon turned coolly and took the phone. At the same time she casually collected her butterfly knife and twirled it shut, more for effect than anything else.

  “Why didn’t we just do this to begin with?”

  “We couldn’t. In fact what we’re actually tracking now is something the girl picked up at the crime scene.”

  Sharon handed the phone back to Pike.