Headhunters

by Charlie Cole

  Isabelle was correcting her aim, targeting me, but I was already moving, using Brock as a human shield. She didn’t seem to care and fired anyway. The bullets rocked into Brock’s body. He jerked in pain at the first, then the second, then slumped into dead weight at the third and fourth. My shield had just become a corpse.

  “It’s not worth it, son!” Kendrick shouted over the helicopter rotors. He was standing behind Isabelle, his daughter, letting her lead the way into the fray, killing anything that stood between me and Kendrick.

  I pushed Brock’s body away, shoving him toward them to buy me time, but I felt his body drop like a stone and knew that time was lost. I leapt backward, twisting away, reaching back to where the SIG had fallen. Isabelle fired after me, Kendrick screaming in protest to no avail. The bullets sizzled past me and my fingers found the grip of the SIG.

  I crashed to the ground and lifted the gun, firing as I went. I hit Isabelle and as she fell, I hit Kendrick. Isabelle was dead, but two bullet holes punctuated the lapel of Randall Kendrick’s suit coat. He looked down at them, tendrils of smoke leaking upward, the scent of cordite stinging his nostrils and for a moment, time ceased to matter. He only looked at me in shock, but knowing shock. Knowing that eventually it would come to this.

  “I’m not your son,” I said.

  I thought of that day at the pond when I’d told Kendrick I was leaving the company… wondered if I shouldn’t have just killed him then and saved the lives of everyone who followed. Knowing at the same time that I never would have done such a thing.

  Kendrick’s face crumpled in pain, his hand trembled to his chest and he took one staggering step toward me. I feared that he wasn’t done, wouldn’t die and that I’d need to shoot him again, fearing that I could not do it.

  I was aware that the helicopter was landing on the bridge but could not take my eyes off Kendrick. He stumbled forward, toward me. Closer… closer… oh shit… Then he was past me. He was looking past me, eyes glazed and then he was at the railing.

  I realized then what he was doing and lunged to stop him, but my legs had no strength. Kendrick leaned over the rail and his feet came off the ground and a moment later he toppled over the railing. The sight of it seemed so surreal. A second later, I heard a splash as if it came from a million miles away. I stood, walked to the railing and looked over the side. He was gone. Randall Kendrick was gone.

  “Simon, drop the gun…” I heard the voice behind me. “It’s over.”

  I held the gun out to my side and dropped it and turned to face Ken Gibson. I looked down at my jacket pocket and with the fingertips of my left hand, pulled out a sheet of paper. I shook it open and held it out to him. It was speckled with blood and I didn’t know if it was my own or someone else’s…

  Ken took it from me, his gun hand hanging by his side. He read the piece of paper, reread it, then shook his head slowly.

  “A Goddamn Presidential pardon?” Ken asked. He looked at me and I sat down awkwardly, all aches and pains and sprains and scrapes. Then surveying the scene around us, the bodies, the wreckage, the SWAT team securing the scene, he said, “You’re a son of a bitch, Simon. You know that?”

  I nodded.

  “I know… I know…”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It took a moment for the situation to sink in. I was sitting on the pavement on the Michigan Avenue Bridge watching the police secure the scene. I gladly relinquished my weapons, my electronics, my Kevlar vest. But it wasn’t until I stood on my own two feet again that I was able to see the FBI van.

  Smoke was rising from the crater in the side of the vehicle and EMTs were swarming about, opening the back doors of the van, opening the driver’s side door. I could see them bring a body out, but I could not recognize who it was.

  I pulled myself to my feet with a groan. My body had given out, beaten, tired and defeated. The adrenaline was draining faster than I could help it and so my backbone was gone. I wanted nothing more than to collapse, to lie down and let all of this just go away. But I could not. Not yet.

  I lurched forward and Ken Gibson appeared at my elbow.

  “Where you going, pal?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer, my throat thick and aching and tasting of burnt gasoline. I pointed to the van and trudged onward. The EMTs were covering the body and I gripped the elbow of one of them. He looked at me casually, then critically, reaching for me at assist me. I held up a hand.

  “No…" I croaked. The EMT looked back at Gibson and he must have shaken his head because the paramedic released me. I stepped closer and pulled back the sheet. I looked down into the face of the person there but I did not recognize her. Perhaps that’s what saddened me the most. I touched the clothes that were burned and bloodied and at last found the hand. I held it in my own and began to weep when I saw the black nail polish. It was Nan.

  I would have to call someone. The list was tallying against me, even now. I’d have to make a call and let them know. Her mother, her father… someone needed to know. To appreciate this child that had been lost. My tears flowed and I didn’t try to stop them. I covered her back up and Ken put an arm around my shoulder to steady me as much as to comfort me.

  I wanted to go in, but Ken restrained me.

  “No, man, don’t do that,” Gibson said. “You don’t want to go in there. You don’t want to see this.”

  I waited and breathed, trying to calm myself. A moment later a second body came out and I could see that it was Billy. His face was bandaged and he was unconscious, but it was Billy and he was still breathing. I stepped back and let him be taken away. The SWAT helicopter had been replaced by a rescue chopper and the EMTs rushed him to it. The gurney was loaded inside the helicopter and the rotors quickened. The air battered the rest of us and a moment later they were airborne and tracking toward the hospital.

  “What about—?” I gestured inside the van, looking helplessly to Gibson, to the EMT, but no one answered. I was about to shout at the EMT, but he disappeared back into the van. I shuffled, pacing in frustration.

  The moment stretched on and Gibson put his arm around me to comfort me. I began to sob. I covered my face with my hands and cried harsh, bitter tears. The moment stretched into minutes and I looked around at the chaos and wished more than ever that if Jessica was gone, I wanted to be gone. I had no will to live without her. I truly loved her in the deepest way that I knew how.

  The van doors opened then and instead of the one EMT that went in, I saw two shapes come walking out. It was Jessica…

  She was walking out on her own. Shaken, her hands trembling, her eyes still wide in shock and disbelief, but alive. Her eyes were searching as she emerged from the van, but at last she saw me and ran to me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me fiercely.

  I ached and her arms crushed me. There was nowhere else I’d rather have been at that moment. I felt the soft curve of her back and the weight of her pressed against me. It was as if we’d been apart for ten years and yet not even a whole day had passed. I missed her and loved her for being there.

  She was crying and laughing somehow at the same time and I let her, not trying to stop her or talk to her, just enjoying her presence in the moment.

  “Let’s not do that again,” she said, her lips pressed against my ear. I shook my head and assured her that we wouldn’t. She just hugged me then, content that we were together.

  At last the embrace broke and I kissed her. God love her, she kissed me back. A feeling of relief washed over me and my knees began to buckle. I fought to stop them and earned a momentary reprieve.

  “Ken, we need to secure the van,” I said. “Get your CSU unit on it and computer services. We need the data files…”

  Gibson nodded and gestured. A patrol officer ducked into the van, then emerged a moment later.

  “I don’t think you’re going to have much luck there, sir,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The laptops in there are cooked. The hard drives ar
e probably charcoal right now. I don’t think anything could survive that.”

  I looked down at Jess and back at the officer.

  “Find someone who knows for sure and call me. Detective Gibson has my number,” I said. I turned with Jess and started walking.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Gibson asked, running after us.

  “I need to talk to Billy,” I said.

  “What?” Gibson blurted. “He’s half dead.”

  “My man needs me. Now help me or stand aside.”

  My tone gave no quarter for dissent. I had stopped and was glaring at Gibson. The look stopped him dead in his tracks and he put his hands up in surrender.

  “Alright, let’s go,” he resigned.

  “Where’s your car?” I asked.

  “No way,” Gibson shot back. “I’m not having you bleed in my car. You’re getting on that bus.”

  “Bus?” Jess asked. “We have to ride the bus? Is this guy serious?”

  “Um… ambulance,” I said. “Not a terrible idea… I’ve felt better… And it’s the fastest way to the hospital.”

  “Alright, I’ll go for that,” Jess replied and put her arm around my waist and head on my chest.

  “Well, there you go then,” Gibson said with a smile. He waved down an EMT and he directed us to an ambulance. While we were walking, Gibson shot me a suspicious look. I knew he was mulling something over. When police detectives mull, it’s always better to catch them before they start to brood.

  “What’s on your mind, Kenny?” I asked.

  “Just one little thing,” he replied. “How do I know that pardon you showed me is real? I mean aside from the presidential seal and the signature… Jesus… never saw the president’s signature before… but even so, how do I know it’s real?”

  I was fishing in my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I handed it to Ken.

  “Speed dial seven,” I said.

  “Hunh?”

  “Go ahead,” I replied.

  Ken took the phone, punched the number and listened.

  “It’s asking me for some kind of access code,” he said, a little bewildered.

  “Okay, here you go…” I said. “4-6-4-5-6-2-7-9-8-9-8-7-6-2-4-6. Then push the pound button.”

  Ken did and I could see he was beginning to sweat a little. This was more than what he was expecting.

  “Put it on speaker,” I said.

  Gibson punched a button and a voice came across, loud and strong.

  “This is Sinclair.”

  “Director Sinclair, this is Simon Parks,” I said. “I’m here with Detective Kenneth Gibson of the Alexandria Police Department and… another member of my team.”

  I cast a glance at Jess and winked. If there’s ever an opportunity not to mention your name to the Director of the NSA… take it.

  “What’s the situation there, Simon?” Sinclair asked.

  “Kendrick is down,” I said. “So is his team.”

  “Holy God…” Sinclair breathed.

  “I’m in position to recover the files we had discussed, but I need your authorization to solicit the support of local law enforcement,” I said. “Could you confirm my credentials to Detective Gibson, please?”

  “Detective Gibson?”

  “Uh, yes sir?” Gibson said cautiously.

  “This is Deputy Director Jack Sinclair of the National Security Agency. The man standing there with you is Simon Parks and he’s one of our finest assets. Please give him the highest level of cooperation.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gibson agreed.

  “Director, this is Simon again,” I cut in. “We’ve got a surveillance unit down on the Michigan Street Bridge and our equipment and records are inside…”

  “I’ll dispatch a retrieval unit immediately,” Sinclair said. “Simon? Thanks again. We’ll talk soon.”

  Sinclair disconnected the call, so I hung up.

  “I have no doubt,” I said, looking at the phone.

  ***

  The ride to the hospital was a quick one and Jessica and I held hands all the way. We let the EMT look at us and treat our wounds. I held an icepack to my nose and peeked around it to look at Jess when I could but she mostly averted her eyes while the paramedic cleaned the blood from my face.

  “Ew… that’s so gross,” she said.

  “My face?”

  “Yes… No! All that blood,” she said, laughing at me.

  “I’ll try to bleed less,” I said.

  “Yeah, do that, would you?”

  Once we arrived at the hospital we were separated and taken into exam rooms in the ER just to be looked over. The cut on my head needed to be stitched up. My scrapes and cuts needed to be disinfected and bandaged. By the end of the visit, I felt like Boris Karloff in The Mummy because of all the bandages, but that was just fine. I was up and mobile. That was all I needed.

  I walked out of the exam room and found Jessica waiting for me.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Better than you,” she laughed.

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” I replied.

  Gibson walked up next to us just then.

  “Your man is about to go into surgery,” Gibson said. “If you’re going to talk to him, we need to do it now.”

  I walked as fast as I could in the direction that Gibson had gestured until I saw Billy lying on a bed. Doctors and nurses surrounded him. I was losing time.

  “How is he?” I asked. “I’m family… he’s my brother.”

  A doctor with dark skin and thick black hair turned toward me and regarded my injuries. My story made sense for now. The man answered me in a slight Indian accent.

  “He’s critical right now, sir,” the doctor said. “He’s sustained extensive internal injuries. We need to get him prepped for surgery.”

  “I need a moment,” I said.

  “Sir, we really need to—“ the doctor replied.

  “A moment,” I insisted.

  I looked down at Billy and he was rousing, hearing my voice.

  “Simon?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Billy,” I said. “It’s me.”

  “You suck, you know that?” he asked, grinning.

  “I know, Billy, I know,” I said. “Hey, you’re going into surgery…”

  Billy nodded.

  “The laptops are toast…” I said, hating to burden him with this.

  Billy shook his head. He was beginning to lose consciousness again.

  “Sent copy… offshore…” Billy moaned. “Data… archive… Northstar Systems…”

  He was a genius, a damn genius. Billy had downloaded the data and then sent a copy to himself at a remote data warehouse before the attack. It was safe.

  “Where?” I asked. “How do I retrieve it?”

  “Please, sir! We must go now!” said the doctor sternly.

  Billy’s hand found mine and I realized that he’d cramped it into a fist and only now opened it to press a piece of paper into my palm.

  “Here…” he whispered and then he was out.

  The doctor shot me a withering look and then they were gone, wheeling him away toward the elevator, toward his surgery. I looked at the piece of paper in my hand. This had been everything we’d worked for.

  I turned to Gibson.

  “Ken, please… put a man on his door and see that no harm comes to him,” I said. Gibson nodded and stepped forward to shake my hand.

  “I’ll make it happen,” he said. “You sticking around?”

  “Damn straight,” I replied. “I have to make sure Billy’s okay.”

  “Uh-oh,” Ken replied, but with a smile. “See you around, Simon.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder and stepped away to make a call. I looked at Jessica. Her face was open and innocent, eyes wide and taking me in. She had such a way about her.

  “I’m sorry for all of this, Jess. I never intended for it to all spin out of control. If I’d known… well, if I’d known, I’d never have brought you into it.” />
  “I know, Simon, I know…” she said. “But I’m glad to be with you. I’m glad to be in your life. Whatever that takes. Whatever it means… as long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

  I hugged her, pulling her close to me.

  “Just… no more rockets, okay?” she asked with a chuckle. “No grenades or bullets or bombs…”

  I laughed and it felt good.

  “No rockets, no grenades, no bullets,” I said. “That ought to be our family motto, or something.”

  She chuckled and kissed me. Without a word we walked to the waiting room and found seats. When Billy was out of surgery, we’d return to his room, visit with him, hug him, treasure him for making it through.

  “I need to make a quick call, baby,” I said. “Give me a second?”

  She nodded and smiled and watched the television in the waiting room for something to do while I dialed the number on my cell.

  “Deputy Director Sinclair,” he answered.

  “Sir, it’s Simon Parks,” I said.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a train wreck, sir,” I answered. “Special Agent Billy Bender from the FBI was injured while stopping Kendrick. He’s in surgery and we’re waiting at the hospital. After that I’m heading out of town. I’m sure we can catch up soon for a debriefing, but my children are waiting for me.”

  “I totally understand,” he replied. “But we’ve got a problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “The data is unrecoverable from the laptops in the van,” Sinclair said. “We’ve got nothing to tie Randall Kendrick to any of this.”

  “Not true, sir,” I replied. “Can you patch in one of your technicians? With a secure internet connection?”

  “Of course. Wait one.”

  Jessica looked over at me and smiled. It came easily, sweetly.

  “Simon?” Sinclair’s voice broke in.

  “Yes sir.”

  “I’ve got Larry Burrows on the line with us,” Sinclair said. “Larry’s one of our Security Analysts. He should be able to help us. What have you got?”