The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Agency

  Shawn Oetzel

  THE AGENCY

  by

  Shawn Oetzel

  2nd Edition 2018

  1st Edition Trade Paperback 2012

  All Rights Reserved

  Dark Recesses Press

  657 Craigen Road

  Newburgh, Ontario

  Canada K0K 2S0

  Copyright © 2012 Shawn Oetzel

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. All characters in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Christine Morgan

  Cover design by Bob Freeman

  Library & Archives Canada ISBN

  978-1-988837-09-3

  Dedication

  For my parents

  My mother, Betty Maynor, who always believed in the magic,

  and my father, John Oetzel, who has never ceased to be amazed by the magic.

  I love you guys…

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks goes out to friend and fellow writer, Donnie Light, who is always available for some advice or a quick word of encouragement. I look forward to working with you more in the future. Lunch is on me next time.

  I would also like to thank David Lee Summers, friend and colleague, for reading several chapters and offering invaluable advice as well as editing tips.

  A general word of thanks goes out to Local Authors and the writing community we inhabit. I am proud to find myself among such talented individuals and even prouder to call several of you friends.

  Finally and as always, my family of which none of this means anything without your love and support.

  —Prologue

  Agent Reggie Blackburn watched through the passenger side window as large flakes of snow fell to the ground. The vehicle he was riding in slowed to a jerking halt in front of a dilapidated brick apartment building. The snow barely covered the ground, but the crisp whiteness gave the surrounding area the false impression of being fresh and new. He knew, however, the blanket of snow was really a lie as this neighborhood had long since sold its soul to decay and corruption.

  “You ready to serve and protect?” the driver asked jokingly; the sound of his voice breaking the cone of silence.

  Reggie looked over at the young kid. He had to have been fresh out of the academy. The question was meant to be a sign of confidence, but he detected the underlying quiver of fear in the kid’s voice. This was probably the rookie’s first action since becoming a Secret Service agent.

  He did not bother replying to the question, but instead looked in the rearview mirror. He watched with minor annoyance as two other cars pulled in behind where he and the kid had parked.

  He knew each one of those vehicles carried another three Secret Service agents, which seemed like overkill, but when suspected terrorists were concerned, you could not be too cautious. With the way things were in the world right now, and paranoia running somewhat rampant, he was surprised the National Guard hadn’t been called in to assist as well.

  He continued to watch as the Secret Service agents exited their respective vehicles, laughing when he saw all of them were dressed in the requisite dark suits and mirrored sunglasses. They looked like members of some sort of yuppie cult. When he turned to look at the driver of his own car, he realized the kid was dressed in a similar fashion.

  “What do they do, hand out those outfits at graduation?” he asked sarcastically. “Might as well hang a sign around your necks with big block letters that say Secret Service.”

  The young agent, knowing he had been made fun of, took offense. Peeking over the top of his own pair of mirrored sunglasses with disdain, he replied, “Well, we can’t all be as sophisticated as you feebies now can we.”

  Reggie laughed out loud at the scorn the rookie agent had thrown his way. He had almost forgotten he was here under the guise of being an FBI agent when in fact he was here because of a tip the Agency had received from their sister department in Great Britain. He was not all that interested in the possible terrorists hiding in the old apartment building, but what they might have in their possession.

  “I like your fire kid,” he said as he grabbed the door handle and let himself out. “Now let’s go make you a hero.”

  They left the car, and he and his driver walked over to the other agents huddled around the hood of one of the other vehicles, looking over what he thought were the building schematics. They were all so engrossed in their planning, they did not notice as he approached.

  “Well isn’t this just a regular meeting of the minds,” he said. The looks of utter contempt that were shot his way made having to stand out in the cold air and wet snow almost worth it.

  The oldest member of the group of the Secret Service brain trust looked up from the papers and stared directly at Reggie. The smug confidence, the look of self-righteous arrogance, and the almost palpable aura of self-importance which radiated from the elder officer definitely marked him as the agent in charge. This would only complicate matters as Reggie knew the old guy would not take to having his authority questioned, especially in front of his underlings.

  “Look, Special Agent Blackburn, this is our show,” he began, emphasizing his point by swinging his arm around to encompass the other men standing to his sides. “How you were able to weasel your way into this investigation is beyond me, and I don’t really know or care. So why don’t you do what you FBI guys do best, and keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way. You might just learn something.”

  “Yes sir,” Reggie said as he snapped off a mock salute.

  His ego now satisfied, the team leader turned his attention back to his men. They were all packed around so closely you would have thought the old guy was about to divulge some great secret of the universe. Reggie could only shake his head at the ridiculousness of it.

  He knew the Secret Service did not hold the FBI in high regard which was why this it the perfect cover for his own investigation. He worried he would not be able to hold his tongue long enough to see this mission through, however. It was getting harder by the minute to keep his witty sarcasm in check. If these poor fools only knew who he really worked for, and the investigations he had run, they would show a tad bit more respect. He was used to it though. Anonymity was simply a part of the job.

  The gruff sound of the veteran leader’s voice handing out orders brought Reggie out of his momentary reverie, back to the tense scene. The snow had started coming down even harder, making all of the dark suited Secret Service agents look as if they had the worst case of dandruff on record.r />
  “According to our surveillance and intel, our two targets are holed up in the last apartment on the first floor. As you can see, this is an old tenement housing and there is only the one entrance. I still want two of you to go around back in case these birds decide to fly the coop through a window.” He finished this by pointing out the two agents that were to carry out that particular objective. They in turn acknowledged their orders with quick nods of their heads. “The rest of us are going to follow standard operating procedure and apprehend our targets as quickly and quietly as possible.”

  Reggie listened intently as the elder agent continued to bark out the mission parameters. He could tell the old guy was seriously enjoying himself, and he probably lived for moments such as this when he could feel General Patten-esque while he addressed his troops before a big battle.

  “Homeland Security has identified these two pieces of trash as potential threats to national security. They have ties to the IRA, and according to our source, their cell has been activated to carry out terrorist activities against our government. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Let’s try and take them alive, but if they show any signs of resistance we will use deadly force,” the senior agent said, finishing up his pep talk. By the glint in his eye, Reggie could tell the use of deadly force was exactly what the old guy and his team preferred.

  After the agent finished his motivational speech, Reggie watched as the two agents who had been selected earlier trotted off to cover the windows at the rear of the building. Once they were out of sight, the old guy gave a hand signal for everyone else to move out.

  Reggie had to hide a chuckle with his hand, pretending he was stifling a cough, as the remaining agents signaled acknowledgement and began heading for the entrance. You would have thought Bin Laden himself was holed up in the rat hole of an apartment the way they were acting. He chuckled again at the thought, bringing a fresh round of contempt from his colleagues.

  “Sorry. I think I’m coming down with something,” he said as a way of offering up an excuse.

  A couple of the agents shook their heads in disgust, while the others chose to ignore him completely, staying focused on their mission at hand. Reggie hung back a bit to regain his own composure before following.

  The entrance to the apartment complex was marked by a single metal door which had long ago lost its luster, and was now nothing more than a large piece of rust with a handle. Reggie had a thought that it could be the entrance to hell, and knew for some of the tenants it was indeed just that.

  The eerie image caused a shiver to slip down his spine, and he hoped it was not a premonition of things to come. This should be a relatively easy collar, especially with all the suits around, but you never know what you get when dealing with a criminal element. Everything could turn against them in a matter of seconds if they weren’t careful.

  The lock on the door had become a victim of someone with a screw driver. Two agents knelt down to cover the entrance while a third grabbed the door handle and quickly swung the door open, which let out a loud groan of protest. Yet another agent entered the building to clear the hallway of any civilians before waving the others in. The two kneeling agents waited until the others were inside before they entered, Reggie following close behind. He shut the door behind him, and it again let out a low, grinding moan.

  Reggie could see four doorways down the hall, with a stairwell at the end. The apartment they were interested in was right across from the stairs. One agent broke away from the others, and stationed himself in front of the stairs in case someone came down. The agents did not want to have any surprises while attempting to apprehend the terrorists.

  The inside of the apartment building was no better than the outside. The walls were dingy and the place smelled of trash, old urine, and rat excrement. Reggie wrinkled his nose in disgust; he never ceased to be surprised by the conditions some people would accept to live under. He could only shake his head in frustration as he made his way to the end of the hall.

  The hall itself was not overly large so he had to hang back and off to the side as the Secret Service agents positioned themselves. Every one of them had their guns drawn and were ready to shoot to kill if necessary, giving the whole scene a Gunfight at the OK Corral feel to it. He half expected a tumbleweed to come blowing through the hall. He was really starting to worry things were not going to go smoothly.

  The lead agent walked over and pounded on the apartment door. The sound of his fist hitting the old wood was louder than expected and caught Reggie off guard, causing him to jump. He looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but the others were too focused on the door. He let out a quiet sigh of relief as it definitely would have been a long ride home if the cocky agents had witnessed his slip.

  There was a slight rustling sound from the other side of the door as if people were scurrying around, perhaps trying to tidy up or even more disturbing, trying to hide something. What was even more unnerving was the deathly silence that followed.

  Reggie could definitely feel the tension in the air start to thicken. This is not going to have a happy ending. He had been in enough situations like this to know when things were going to go sour. He reached under his coat and freed his own firearm. If things started getting hairy, he did not want to be caught with his pants down. All he could do was take a deep breath to help steady his nerves, and watch as the lead agent waited a few more seconds before pounding on the door again.

  “Who’s there?” a muffled voice with an unmistakable Irish brogue asked from inside the apartment.

  “This is the United States Secret Service,” the elder agent answered with authority. “We have a warrant to search the premises. Either open this door, or we will knock it down.”

  There was another wave of silence before Reggie heard the sound of a chain lock being removed. The door opened a crack, and he caught a glimpse of red hair before the agents burst through the door like storm troopers.

  He could not quite see what was going on, but could definitely hear the sounds of a struggle. Then, without warning, the thunder crack of a large caliber weapon cut through the immediate area like a hot knife through butter. He heard a grunt of pain, and the sound of someone falling to the floor.

  By this time he had made his way to the entrance of the apartment, and had a front row seat to the chaos that followed. He saw one agent down on the floor bleeding from a wound to his right shoulder. The other agents were momentarily stunned, but quickly regained their composure and opened fire. The cacophony of discharging weapons was so loud it caused Reggie’s ears to ring. The smell of cordite filled his nostrils, so pungent it made him sick to his stomach.

  The terrorist who had shot the agent was hit multiple times by the returning fire. The bullets spun him around several times making him look like some macabre marionette from a kid’s puppet show. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  “Quinn… No!” the red-headed terrorist shouted as he got to his feet.

  The sound of the Irish-accented yell caught the agents’ attention, and they spun around, weapons ready to fire. The terrorist just stood there, in shock from the horror at having witnessed his compatriot being shredded by gunfire.

  “You bastards, you’ll pay for this,” he stammered as he reached a hand into his pants pocket and removed a cylindrical object.

  The agents never gave him a chance. The old agent himself fired two shots in quick succession. They were perfectly aimed as one slammed into the terrorist’s chest and the killing shot followed as it hit right between the eyes. The Irishman hit the wall, sliding down to the floor, head resting on his now still chest. Reggie could see what appeared to be a homemade explosive device, still clutched tightly in the terrorist’s hand.

  “Nice shooting, Tex,” Reggie said trying to break the tension.

  “That’s how we do it in the Secret Service Agent Blackburn,” the old guy said with pride.

  “Well, while you’re busy patting yourself on the back, you migh
t want to get your guy some medical attention,” Reggie said pointing to the wounded Agent who was still lying on the floor.

  The senior agent scowled back, but accepted the rebuff. He pulled out a cell phone, punched in some numbers, and reported the need for medical assistance along with the address. It wasn’t long before sirens could be heard in the distance.

  Reggie ignored the agents, and began looking around the small living room; the place was dirty and trash was littered all over the floor. He made one complete pass of the room when something caught his eye. A wrinkled piece of brown paper sticking out from under the bottom of the only piece of furniture, an old green couch.

  He casually tried to walk over to get a better view, taking a quick glance at the other agents, but they were preoccupied with their wounded comrade and recounting their own personal heroics. He squatted down and pulled the paper out.

  From a distance it had looked like an old paper grocery sack, but in reality it was a centuries old parchment.

  Realizing what he had, Reggie quickly rolled the parchment up and slipped it under his coat, into his inside coat pocket. The Secret Service agents stared as he walked by, starting to make his way outside.

  “I need to get some air,” he offered as he passed through the doorway and into the hall.

  “What’s the matter, feebie, can’t stand the sight of blood?” an agent asked.

  He didn’t know which one it was, and he didn’t really care. There were far more important things going on than these arrogant fools realized. He ignored the jibe as he brushed passed another agent to step back through the groaning outer door, and into the cool air once again. The cold caused a sharp intake of breath that hurt his lungs.

  The ambulance arrived along with some of New York City’s finest. He flashed his badge as he walked by, and as usual it gave him a free pass. The paramedics from the ambulance ran past with a stretcher in hand, but he barely noticed. Instead he pulled out his cell phone from the clip on his belt, and made his way to the car before entering a telephone number. There was only one ring before it was answered.