Headhunters

by Charlie Cole

  She made a sound of regret and fear in her throat and then screamed but not the scream of a frightened woman. This was a battle cry, fierce and loud. I heard crunching metal and and tires screeching in protest at being dragged across blacktop. Then silence.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “Fine. We made it through,” This last bit was punctuated by a nervous laughter from Jess.

  “Bloody good show,” Geoff said over the radio. “You showed those wankers!”

  I was following Geoff as best I could and while the urge to encourage him and push him to go faster rose in my throat, I feared I might not be able to keep up if I did.

  “Good girl,” I said. “Are there any more?”

  “I hope not,” she said immediately, then, “Not right now.”

  “Good, keep moving,” I replied. “Geoff and I are coming to you. Get in the open and stay there. We’re going to try to contain this thing.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” Jessica said and it made me want to hold her, comfort her. But now just wasn’t the time.

  “Geoff, we need to get there any way we can, man,” I said.

  “I know…” his voice came back to me.

  “I mean it.”

  “I know.”

  I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and speed dialed. A second later a distracted voice picked.

  “Gibson…”

  “Kenny,” I said as kindly as I could.

  Silence.

  “You broke my fucking wrist, Simon,” he growled.

  “I understand that you’re upset about that,” I replied.

  “Upset? I’d be upset if I misplaced my car keys,” Gibson shot back. “I’d be upset if I burned my pizza while I was watching the Redskins game. Breaking my wrist doesn’t just make me upset…”

  Gibson’ voice was rising now, edging into a rant.

  “Ken…” I began.

  “I have to wipe my ass with my other hand, Simon,” he continued. “My other fucking hand! Do you understand me? So don’t tell me that I’m upset. I’m not left-handed. So please pardon me if a call from you makes my ass itch.”

  Wow… I’d ventured into some unfamiliar territory here. Ken was more than upset. I’d need to change tactics here.

  “Ken, I want to turn myself in,” I said at last. That slowed him down.

  “What?”

  “I want to turn myself in,” I repeated.

  “Are you kidding me?” Gibson asked, his voice thick with cynicism. “You have blazed a path of murder and mayhem across this city, stolen government secrets and sold them to the frickin’ Russkies for all I know. You assault a police officer, evade a warrant and now you want to give up pretty as can be?”

  I had a moment where I needed to swallow my sarcasm. Gibson had no idea what I’d seen in the past few days and trying to convince him now would do no good.

  “I’m tired of running, Kenny,” I said and realized I was telling the truth. “I miss my family. I think I screwed up, man. I think I screwed up real bad and… and… I just want to make it right.”

  There was a hitch in my throat at the end and I didn’t have to work too hard to manufacture that. I could hear Gibson pondering what I was telling him.

  “Was that you…? At Jacobson Tower?” Gibson asked. His tone was low, his voice almost reverential.

  “It was,” I confessed. “Listen, Ken. I can explain…”

  “Where can I pick you up?” Gibson cut in.

  I thought about it. Chicago was steeped in landmarks and places to work from. I needed someplace public. Somewhere that no one would dream of trying to take us down.

  “Ken, I need you to close down the Michigan Street Bridge,” I said. “Lock it down from the south. I’m coming from the north. We’re southbound on Lake Shore Drive.”

  “Are you nuts?” Gibson asked. “I can’t just shut down the bridge. It’s going to be rush hour in a few hours.”

  “Ken, they’re going to try to kill me. They’re going to try to kill Jessica. I need to do this someplace public. Then I’ll come along with you quietly.”

  I let Gibson chew on that for a moment. I was struggling to keep up with Geoff. He was moving through traffic like a wraith, several moves ahead each time. All I could do was follow as best I could.

  “Fine, I’ll do what I can,” he replied.

  “Something else, Ken,” I replied. “We’re coming in hot.”

  I could hear Gibson suck in a breath.

  “Are they chasing you right now?”

  “Yes,” I said. It was close enough to the truth to warrant the response I needed. “I need a police escort. Helicopter, squads. Whatever you’ve got. Bring me home, man.”

  “Simon… don’t screw with me,” Gibson warned.

  “I swear to you,” I replied solemnly. “On my wife, I swear to you.”

  “Okay, Simon,” Gibson said. “We’ll be there.”

  I closed the phone and dropped it on the seat. There was nothing more to say. I weaved around a Toyota and closed the distance on Geoff. Traffic was getting heavier now as the daylight began to creep over the horizon. Geoff was driving a wedge through the middle of them and I followed close behind, the hammer driving us forward.

  “Jess, can you hear me?” I said, transmitting over the radio.

  “I can hear you,” she replied. She was slightly calmer now, but I could hear the adrenaline in her voice like a steel rod.

  “I need you to head straight down Lake Shore and head for the bridge, okay?” I asked. “We’re getting picked up by the police at the bridge.”

  “Simon, are you nuts?” Nan cut in. “We can’t go to the police. We just blew up a building!”

  “We have no choice now, Nan. It’s a bullet in the head or deal with the cops.”

  “You’ll never make it, son…” a voice spoke into my earpiece.

  I thought I was hearing voices then. Because it certainly couldn’t be…

  “It’s Randall Kendrick here, Simon,” the voice said. “Your secure radio frequency wasn’t nearly as secure as you thought it would be. In fact, it gave you away…”

  Damn it. It was him. I wasn’t hallucinating. I wasn’t hearing things. Kendrick was actually broadcasting over our frequency. The whole team could hear him.

  “You ran away like a naughty little boy, Simon,” Kendrick taunted. “I had no choice but to look for you, son. And it didn’t take long to uncover your radio frequency. The NSA is ever so happy to lend resources when we’re tracking down terrorists.”

  I should have known. I should have known he’d be able to find us. It was my fault. He’d tracked the signal. Discovered it was ours. Overheard that we were in the data center… the radio signal gave us away… led to Ron’s death… I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  “We’re not terrorists,” I replied.

  “Simon, you detonated illegal explosives inside a building in a populated area and killed a number of federal agents,” Kendrick said. “I’d say that puts you pretty firmly in the “enemy of the state” column.”

  I focused on driving. The closer I got to the bridge and Jess in the van, the better off we’d all be. There was no harm in letting Kendrick talk.

  “People like Mitchell Burr are enemies of the state, Randall,” I spat back. “And the only way to deal with them is the way that I did.”

  My hackles were up, what Kendrick was saying was only enraging me, but the fact that he was chuckling disquieted me even further.

  “He’s not dead, son,” Kendrick replied. “If you hadn’t been so headstrong, you might have seen that. But in the end, you only did half the job.”

  I saw a black suburban pass me then, no mean feat considering the speed at which I was moving. Time seemed to slow in that instant. I lifted my head, looking up at the passenger in the Suburban. I recognized him immediately, despite the blood-soaked bandage at his throat, it was not difficult to see that Mitchell Burr was very much alive. The dressing was fat and packed
in place under his chin, and I could see then that I’d missed my mark in the darkness. As I’d always known, I had no taste for killing. For “wetwork” as Kendrick called it… close quarters murder where you were near enough to your victim that their blood could get on you. I was no field agent. And I feared for what that meant.

  I saw the passenger window of Burr’s Suburban glide down and realized that he couldn’t see me through the darkened glass of the Cadillac. He presumed I was in the lead car. He was going after Geoff.

  “Geoff! On your left! He’s right th—“ was all I managed to get out.

  I tried to react then, but before I could, Burr leaned out the window and aimed a monstrous weapon at the back of Geoff’s car. It was a Penn Arms 40mm grenade launcher, with combat grips and a thick black ring of six shells in the middle. Unlike a rocket launcher, Burr would be able to fire again and again.

  The weapon went off with a heart-stopping crump. The back of Geoff’s car exploded in a fireball and lifted the vehicle into the air, sending it tumbling, cartwheeling forward down the road. The concussion of the blast rocked my car and I struggled to regain control. Windows shattered in nearby vehicles. My nightvision was lost and I had to steer the car half-blind, rubbing my eye with the heel of my hand, trying to regain my sight.

  Geoff’s car was rolling, falling, end-over-end down the road. I had to break hard to avoid it and swerve into the left lane. I passed the flaming wreck and in that moment knew that I’d lost another friend. I’d told them… no, promised them, that we’d all go home. What the hell had I done?

  My eyes cleared enough that I could see the black Suburban ahead. It slewed in the road, skidding to a stop across both lanes of traffic. I could make out through the darkness and my half-blinded vision that Mitchell Burr was exiting the vehicle and running to the front of the SUV to fire the grenade launcher at me now.

  I knew the man’s character completely in that moment. Burr was not a human being. He was somehow less. He’d relinquished his mantel somewhere along the line and abandoned it for this… barbarism. Animalistic killing and ruthless behavior. I had sworn I’d never become that. This was a man to whom bullets and bloodshed and bombs represented freedom in name only. He hid his cowardice behind this veil of toughness, but he was not a man. He would bomb schoolyards and murder women and children and men without hesitating. And Kendrick had been willing to put the DHS files in this man’s hands.

  I raised the Glock over the steering wheel and fired, stomping down on the gas pedal as I did so. The shots were deafening in the car and the muzzleflash burst forward, kissing the windshield that spiderwebbed under the impact of the hollowpoint bullets. I saw Burr jerk once, twice as I fired, then my vision was gone and I saw nothing until the front fender of the Suburban filled it a split second before the Cadillac collided. The truck seemed to hop sideways at the impact, once then twice. The airbag deployed and smashed me in the face, snapping my head back, shoving my gunhand away.

  The airbag began to deflate and I found the Glock on the seat beside me and forced my hand to reach out and grasp the grip. I looked up, willing my eyes to focus and saw Burr’s driver, still behind the wheel, recovering from the collision. I aimed, painfully slowly it seemed to me, and pulled the trigger twice.

  I pushed the door open and stepped out. I walked around the car, holding the Glock out in front of me, looking for Burr. I found him quickly. The Suburban’s impact had knocked him to the ground and the front tire was now resting on Burr’s chest. His sightless eyes stared at nothing and I had to look away. I didn’t want to remember him when I dreamed. He wasn’t worth it.

  The driver was dead and I pulled him out of the Suburban with considerable effort. It was grating me to think of the time I was losing. Jessica out there somewhere. Billy… Nan… I couldn’t lose anymore that day. Please, God… not anymore. I heaved myself up into the driver’s seat and looked to my left, back the way I’d come and saw the burning wreck of Geoff’s car.

  I’d left fallen comrades in my wake and had not had time to grieve. I turned the ignition and the Suburban growled to life. I put it in gear and drove over Burr’s body and turned south. Toward the bridge.

  I keyed the button for my throat mike.

  “Geoff’s down,” I said, my voice trembling despite myself. “Repeat, Geoff’s down.” The radio broadcast stayed open and I knew that Kendrick was listening, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I heard Billy in the background.

  “God damn it…” he whispered. There seemed nothing else to say. Jess was crying and as much as I wanted to comfort her, I had none to give. We were dying, one by one, all of us. With the finish line in sight. We were all going to die.

  “Did you finish things with Mitchell Burr?” Kendrick’s voice came on finally. He was not teasing me. Not taunting, but almost… teaching.

  “You know I did,” I replied. I didn’t want to be his student here. I had no interest in learning the ways that Kendrick and his agents worked, but perhaps to see the day through, I had no choice.

  “Good,” Kendrick said, his voice was congratulatory and yet commiserating. He seemed to know that the task came at a high price.

  “Is Jessica Madison on this frequency?” Kendrick asked. My chest clenched hearing him say her name.

  “This is Jessica,” she said. “Who’s this?”

  “My name is Randall Kendrick. I believe you know who I am.”

  “I do,” she replied.

  My mouth went dry and I struggled to interrupt, to say anything. At that moment, a police helicopter roared over my head, rotors beating the air, lights glinting and then disappearing up ahead and I groaned at my inability to keep pace. I pushed the gas pedal down harder and the Suburban leapt forward.

  “He’s going to get you killed,” Kendrick said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Shut up, Kendrick!” I shouted. But he didn’t, he continued unphased.

  “Simon Parks… is death. He’s gotten people killed. Everyone around him. Your friend in the car… the man in Jacobson Tower… Tom Ellis… Chris Swenson… even his wife…”

  “Go to hell, Kendrick…” I said.

  “I’m certain that I will, son,” Kendrick replied. “But you’ll have to hold the door for me…”

  The bridge was just up ahead. I could almost see it.

  “Keep going, Jess,” I said. “We’re almost there.”

  “Jessica…” Kendrick breathed. “He’ll seal your fate, too, if you let him. He drove his wife to kill herself, do you know that? He was never there for her, and when he finally was, he made her kill herself…”

  “That’s a damn lie!” I shouted.

  “Simon, what—?” Jess began to ask. Her resolve was cracking. He was wearing her down. I had to find a way to turn the tables.

  “Kendrick, you were the one that pushed me to investigate Burr,” I said. “Seems to me like it was in your best interest to take my wife away so I’d have no interruptions… So, I’d be just like you…”

  The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. Could it be possible that Kendrick had something to do with Claire’s death? The sounds of Kendrick’s soft chuckle filled my head.

  “You’d love for that to be the case, wouldn’t you, son? That would make me the villain here. How Hollywood-esque… how picture perfect… but the problem, Simon, is deeper than that. No, son, I didn’t kill Claire. You did. If you’re looking for a villain here… find a mirror. Because it’s you.”

  “I… didn’t…” I struggled, drowning to find the words.

  “Simon?” It was Jessica. She was doubting me. I could hear it and it broke my heart.

  “Jessica, please… please keep going.”

  I could see the van now. Billy’s FBI issue surveillance van looming large in the dawning sun. It wound its way through traffic up ahead and was nearing the bridge. I feared for a split second that Jess would turn at the last second, would lose faith in me. The moment hung in the air as I approached
, flying down Michigan Ave. And just when I thought she might turn that steering wheel, Jessica stayed her course and accelerated forward onto the bridge.

  “I love you, Simon,” Jessica said, her voice firm and full of courage.

  “I love you, too, Jess,” I replied.

  “How sweet…” Kendrick injected into our radio transmission. “Do it now…”

  I wondered who he was talking to, but only for a split second and then I saw a second Black Suburban burst from a side street out in front of me. The vehicle was an identical match to the one I was driving and almost certainly held the rest of Burr’s crew. The SUV skidded into a turn, falling in behind the van and my heart dropped. I floored the accelerator and the engine of the CTS screamed and I bolted forward, speeding through traffic, desperately trying to catch up. I saw the police roadblock ahead. I saw it and I knew Jess saw it. What troubled me is that the men in the other Suburban saw it too but they didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

  The passenger window came down on the SUV and a horrible feeling of déjà vu crept over me, wrapping its icy fingers around my gut. I aimed the Glock and knew I could never make the shot. I couldn’t hit the shooter before he fired. I’d miss or hit a cop. I drove faster, somehow willing the car to get there now, right fucking now… go, Go, GO!

  The grenade launcher belched and the van bucked at the explosion, flames blooming from up beneath its frame. The van slewed to the side, first one way, then the other and before it recovered, the launcher fired again, hitting the van broadside. Fire erupted and chunks of red hot metal shrieked through the air, seeming to tear it apart. The van was out of control and in one gut-wrenching moment, the squeals of its tires ceased as the van left the ground and seemed to hang in the air.

  I thought of the people inside.

  Jessica.

  Billy.

  Nan.

  Oh dear God, help them, please, I pleaded.

  I imagined my heart beating in my chest while the van turned, six feet off the ground, its tires having finally given up all hopes of traction. And at last, it crashed to the blacktop road, flipping side over side over side, spinning in the air, impossibly fast it seemed.