Imminent Threat

by Jack Patterson

  ***

  THATCHER STARED AT THE PHONE and slumped into the chair at the U.S. consulate in Stuttgart. He contemplated remaining at the television station and catching a commercial flight home, but he didn’t want to appear too combative. Despite his growing cynicism toward the U.S. military, he figured he could find at least one or two allies. Perhaps Senator Thor was one of them; perhaps he wasn’t. At this point, he couldn’t be sure of anything. He didn’t even know if he believed Senator Thor when he said that his commanding officer had died.

  When Thatcher hatched his plan to tell the world—mostly for selfish survival reasons—he figured upon Stuttgart. It was one of Germany’s large metropolitan areas and had a U.S. base. However, he didn’t think he’d leave so soon, but the military police at the door suggested otherwise.

  “You have a flight to catch, Sergeant,” one of the officers said. “It’s time to go.”

  Thatcher stood up and put his hands on his hips. He surveyed the office one more time before grabbing his coat and following the officer.

  Thirty minutes later, Thatcher climbed the steps of a C-130 headed across the Atlantic for the U.S. The pilot offered his hand as he stepped aboard.

  “Ready to go home?” the pilot asked.

  Thatcher nodded. “You have no idea.”

  The pilot laughed. “Buckle up. It should be a rather uneventful flight—especially since there’s no in-flight entertainment.”

  Thatcher forced a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Just make sure you buckle in just in case we face some turbulence.”

  “You got it.”

  Thatcher settled into his seat and snapped the five-part harness into place. He gave the captain a thumbs-up signal before watching the pilot disappear into the cockpit. Two other military passengers sat in jump seats across from him.

  “You Staff Sgt. Thatcher?” one of the men asked.

  Thatcher nodded.

  “That took a lot of courage to do what you did today.”

  Thatcher shook his head. “I wish I could say I was courageous, but it was more out of fear.”

  “What are you afraid of?” the other passenger asked.

  Thatcher thumbed the sharp blade with his right thumb in his pocket. He rubbed the vial in his left pocket with his other hand. “You don’t know what I saw out there.”

  “Care to enlighten us?”

  Thatcher shook his head. “It’s probably not a good idea. I don’t want to scare you.”

  The man laughed. “I’m a Navy Seal. You can’t scare me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Try me.”

  Thatcher waved him off. “Maybe another time.”

  After a few minutes, the plane began to move, lurching forward. All the passengers jerked in the direction of the cockpit. The engines revved up and the plane began to gain speed, heading down the runway.

  “Hold on tight,” the Navy Seal said.

  Thatcher smiled as the nose of the plane tilted skyward and placed them all in an awkward position, leaning toward the ground. The plane continued to gain altitude for several minutes until it finally leveled off.

  Thatcher remained lost in thought, wondering what his family might be thinking now. Would they disown him? Embrace him? He couldn’t be sure, especially coming from a third generation military family. He tried not to think about it—until he drifted asleep.

  When he first heard a noise that startled him, he couldn’t be sure how long he’d been asleep, but he awoke, eyes wide. In front of him, he watched the Navy Seal moving toward him with a knife. He glanced at the other soldier, who appeared to be slumped over and bleeding, perhaps even dead.

  What the—

  Thatcher worked to get his harness off, but couldn’t do it in time. He thrust his feet out to thwart the oncoming man, who was wielding a knife. It bought Thatcher a few moments—just enough time to work his harness free and stand up. He reached for his knife, but couldn’t pull it out in time before the Navy Seal bowled him over.

  The man straddled Thatcher and drew his knife over his head, preparing to strike. But some turbulence created a challenging environment. As the man went to strike, Thatcher rolled to the right, just avoiding the blade as it became lodged in the back of his seat. Thatcher shoved the other man off of him and reached for his knife. When he did, the plane experienced more turbulence and his knife fell to the floor, sliding toward his assailant.

  Before Thatcher could regain his footing, the Navy Seal rushed Thatcher, crashing into him and sending him to the ground. Thatcher head butted him and scrambled to his feet. He punched the button, opening the transport hatch in the back of the plane. But Thatcher didn’t see the man flying toward him, both feet forward.

  Thatcher tumbled backward, clinging to the cargo net, which flapped around on the cargo deck.

  “Who sent you?” Thatcher asked.

  The man didn’t say a word and just grinned. He knelt down and started to knife through the cargo hold.

  CHAPTER 23

  FLYNN STEPPED INSIDE BANKS’ apartment and watched her secure the door with a series of deadbolt locks. She turned toward the wall and armed the security system before looking back at the door and sliding the final chain lock into place.

  “Rough neighborhood?” Flynn asked.

  She cracked a faint smile and shook her head. “You can never be too careful around here—especially with what just happened to us.”

  “I’ve seen you in action. The bad guys should be afraid of you.”

  She waved him off. “You haven’t really seen me in action—otherwise, you’d be afraid of me right now.” She gestured for him to have a seat.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Flynn said.

  “Me, too. And I think we need to take this to the director of the FBI.”

  Flynn’s mouth fell agape. “Are you crazy?”

  “We need someone to know the truth about what’s going on here, about what we’ve seen and what we know.”

  “Sure, but from what I’ve seen so far, someone high up on the food chain in our government doesn’t want that truth to get out. It seems like they’ll go to great lengths to stop us.”

  “But if someone knows, at least it provides us with some protection.”

  “What we need to provide is proof. All we have right now are our own hunches. We don’t know who that guy was who was shooting at us.”

  Banks let out a short breath. “It certainly wasn’t one of their people.”

  “We don’t know that for sure, even though it seems most likely that he wasn’t part of the terrorist group.”

  “Perhaps the CIA is different, but the FBI is full of reasonable people who are trained to make logical deductions. I think they’ll agree with us before we have solid evidence.”

  Flynn sat forward on the edge of the couch. “It doesn’t matter if someone agrees with your hunches because if this thing goes all the way up the chain of command like we think it does, it’ll be a daunting task. We need to know how high up it goes and who’s behind it all before we mount any type of offensive to protect ourselves.” She reached into her bag and slid her iPad along the coffee table in front of Flynn. “It’s all right there. One of my colleagues sent me dossiers on all of the terrorists they found.”

  Flynn scrolled through the images and files for a few minutes in silence. “This isn’t much to go on.”

  “It’s something, which is more than we had a few hours ago.”

  “Let me see if I can get Osborne to look into this for us.”

  Before Banks could respond, a loud knock at the door startled both of them.

  “Were you expecting any visitors?” Flynn asked.

  Banks shook her head.

  Flynn put his index finger to his lips and slipped behind a wall just off the entryway.

  “Who is it?” Banks asked.

  “I’ve got a delivery for a Jennifer Banks. It requires a signature.”

  “Okay. Just a moment.”<
br />
  Flynn dashed across the room and peeked out of her second-floor window onto the street below. He rushed back to Banks. “There’s no delivery truck down there,” he whispered before he slid behind the wall again.

  “What delivery company did you say you were with again?” she asked, peering through the peephole. The man sported a dark brown shirt and a pair of brown cargo pants. But she remained leery of him.

  “UPS, ma’am. I had to park in the garage. New city ordinance,” the man answered, almost as if he were reading her mind.

  “Sorry, I’m a little skittish right now. She started to unlock the doors. Flynn waved at her, trying to get her to stop, but it was too late. She released the last lock, but before she could slide the chain lock out, the door rattled and slammed her in the head as the man charged in.

  Banks stumbled backward and fell to the ground. She scrambled to get to her feet but couldn’t get any further than on her hands and knees before the man jammed his gun into the back of her head.

  “Don’t make another move, Miss Banks.”

  CHAPTER 24

  THE LIQUID MIXTURE SPILLED onto the counter next to the test tubes. Dr. Melissa Watson’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She used her left hand to grab her right in an attempt to steady it. She started to shake all the more violently, creating a mess all over her workstation.

  Watson balled up her fist and slammed it on the table, letting out a slew of expletives.

  I can’t even stop shaking long enough to test the antidote, let alone get it into a syringe to inject it into me.

  She looked upward and threw her head back, unleashing a scream. Noticing a tray of empty test tubes nearby, she snatched them up and slammed them on the floor. The sound of splintered glass tinkling across the floor was followed by another scream.

  “Rough day, Dr. Watson?” came the voice through the intercom.

  She looked toward the observation window leading to the outer hallway. Standing outside next to the door was her director, Dr. Franklin. The smirk on his face infuriated her.

  Watson rushed toward the door and turned the handle. It didn’t budge.

  Dr. Franklin wagged his finger at her and clucked his tongue. “Now, now, Dr. Watson. You know better than to try and contaminate my research facility—at least I thought you did. Good thing I locked this door.”

  “How did you know?”

  He laughed. “A little birdie told me. Now I suggest you quit throwing temper tantrums and find a cure like your life depends on it, because, well, it does.”

  “Dr. Franklin, I can’t do this by myself. I need help.”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t help you. This is a problem you’re going to have to solve on your own.”

  She banged on the glass. “Dr. Franklin! Dr. Franklin!”

  He turned and started to walk down the hall, waving at her once his back was to her.

  She punched the glass again, causing more pain to her hand. If anything, it got her mind off the impending doom she sensed, as she felt no closer to creating an antidote now than she had a day ago.

  Before she returned to her workstation, she noticed Dr. Franklin had stopped and was in an intense conversation with another man in a suit. They were looking at pictures in a folder, but she couldn’t make them out. She put her ear to the glass to hear what they were saying.

  “Do you think these could help the doctor find an antidote more quickly?” the man asked.

  Dr. Franklin shook his head. “I’d rather not give these to her. It won’t help. Besides, we’re probably going to have to start over again soon anyway.” He turned around to look back toward the lab and his eyes locked with Watson. He shooed her away with the back of his hand.

  “If you can help me, Dr. Franklin, you must!” she screamed.

  The man in the suit furrowed his brow for a moment before spinning on his back heel and walking away.

  “Dr. Franklin!”

  She pounded on the glass several more times. She glanced up at the clock, which seemed to be churning through the minutes like they were seconds.

  She beat on the window once more before collapsing to the floor.

  CHAPTER 25

  STAFF SGT. DAN THATCHER CLAWED his way up the netting as the soldier sawed through the rope netting. He couldn’t advance more than one or two strands before the turbulence lifted him up and slammed him back down onto the ramp. Each time, Thatcher fought through excruciating pain.

  After a minute of inching his way up the netting, he clambered to his feet with the help of the rope. Only a few more feet and he’d be clear of the ramp. He looked up to see the Navy Seal grinning as he held the final rope strand in his hand.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he said as he almost finished cutting through it.

  Thatcher looked up to see the co-pilot standing behind the Seal. The co-pilot tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to see a gun pointed in his face.

  Thatcher took advantage of the opportunity to climb up the ramp and get on an even surface.

  Meanwhile, the Seal didn’t hesitate, reacting by shoving his knife into the co-pilot’s leg. When the co-pilot went to grab his leg, the Seal ripped the gun out of his hand and trained it on him. He cocked the gun and prepared to fire.

  Before he could pull the trigger, Thatcher walloped the Seal in the head with a fire extinguisher and sprayed him in the face. Thatcher kicked at the man, sending him backward down the ramp. He grabbed onto the netting, still flapping up and down on the ramp, and shot at Thatcher.

  Thatcher dove out of the way, unknowingly exposing the co-pilot. The shot ripped through his chest, killing him.

  Thatcher rolled to his right, grabbed the knife and threw it at the remaining strand still holding the netting in place. The knife severed the netting and sent the Seal flying out of the cargo bay.

  Thatcher staggered to his feet, closed the cargo bay, and headed toward the cockpit.

  What’s going on?

  He looked down at the pilot, who turned around in horror.

  “Where’s my co-pilot? Did you do something to him?” the pilot asked.

  Thatcher shook his head and tried to catch his breath. “One of the passengers back there tried to kill me.”

  A voice came over the radio, telling the pilot that he was clear to land. The pilot held up his finger. “We’re about to begin our descent into D.C.” He adjusted a few controls and then turned toward Thatcher. “Now, where’s my co-pilot.”

  “He’s back there—dead.”

  “One of your passengers—I think he told me he was a Navy Seal—killed the other soldier and shot your co-pilot.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Floating in the Atlantic. I just shoved him out through the cargo bay.”

  “Well, have a seat and buckle up. We need to set this bird down before we can sort all of this out.”

  Thatcher followed the pilot’s orders, strapping himself into the co-pilot’s seat, which was still warm.

  “I told you not to trust anyone,” the pilot said.

  Thatcher chuckled as he looked out the cockpit. “Yeah, I should’ve listened to you.”

  “Yeah,” the pilot said. “You really should have.”

  Thatcher turned to look at the pilot, who had a gun trained on him.

  CHAPTER 26

  FLYNN PEERED AROUND THE WALL at the man who stood over Banks. He was standing at such an angle that he couldn’t see who was behind him.

  “Where is he?” the man roared.

  Banks shrank lower and lifted her hands in the air. “Where is who?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. I saw you drive into your parking garage with another man.” He bent down and got in Banks’ ear. “Now, where is he?”

  Before Banks could answer, Flynn flew at the man, knocking him against the wall and shaking the gun loose from his hand. The man tried to get up, but Flynn kicked him the ribs. Instead of flinching, the man grabbed Flynn’s foot and twisted it
, spinning Flynn to the ground.

  Now with the advantage, the man put a knee in Flynn’s chest and began pummeling him. He laid several licks on Flynn before Banks collected herself and pulled out her gun.

  “I think this has gone on long enough,” she said, straddling in front of him. “Now get up.”

  The man got up slowly with both hands raised. Flynn squirmed free but stood up in between Banks and the man, giving the man the split second he needed.

  The man shoved Flynn toward Banks and sprinted toward the window, diving through it. He landed on the hood of a car parked on the street below. Flynn and Banks watched as he slowly rolled off and crossed the street. He quickly got into a car and drove off.

  “Did you get the license plate number?” Banks asked.

  “Got it up here,” Flynn said, tapping the side of his head.

  “Good. We need to find out who he is.”

  “We’ve got his gun, too,” Flynn said, holding it up with a pencil.

  “I doubt we’ll be able to get any prints off of it.”

  “If you try, be careful who you give it to.”

  Banks smiled. “Give me credit for being smarter than that. I know a guy.”

  Flynn winked at her. “It’s always good to know a guy.” He paced around for a moment. “Speaking of which, I might know someone, too, who can help us get information—someone that won’t draw any attention in either agency.”

  He picked up his phone and called his editor, Theresa Thompson. The National’s fearless leader always made time for her prized reporter.

  “Where have you been?” Thompson said as she picked up. “I’ve been worried about you. I haven’t heard anything since that incident in Idaho.”

  “I told you I was okay,” Flynn said.

  “But no follow up? I was starting to get worried.”

  “It’s been a rough two days,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “And it hasn’t even been two full days yet.”

  “So, you’re all right?”

  “Fit as a fiddle,” he said, clutching his sore ribs. “Maybe some day I’ll write a book about it.”