by E. R. Mason
Returning to the second floor of the office building, they found chairs and sat concealed near the window, watching and waiting.
“So how did a bookworm like you, meet a Tibetan orphan?” Rogers asked.
“It was that time my father was missing. I knew nothing about the SCIP door or his research. The university wanted to keep his absence quiet because he had embarrassed them several times before. They had used Scott in the past to help with confidential affairs, so they sent him to me to help find my father. I couldn’t stand him at first. He seemed so arrogant. I accidentally discovered my father’s secret lab, and Scott caught me there. I talked him into keeping it quiet and helping me, even though I didn’t like him. It was the only thing I could do.”
“Aren’t you the persuasive one!”
“We made several trips though the mirror. I would have been in trouble had he not been there.”
“No kidding?”
“It got really crazy after that, really crazy. But when it was over, I had changed my opinion of him.”
“Changed your opinion? You love him. Don’t you?”
“Maybe. I think so.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret just between you and me. I love him, too.”
Cassiopia looked up apprehensively.
“Oh don’t worry. I’m not the type to get hooked up. You’ll have no competition from me.”
“Won’t you ever let anyone love you?”
“Maybe someday. They’d have to be able to keep up, though.”
“It’s your work? You are dedicated to it.”
“Close enough.”
“Why? Why did you become an agent?”
Rogers leaned back and sighed. She looked at Cassiopia and fidgeted with the tracking device in her hand. “These things are accurate to sixty miles in the real world. It’s not a GPS-based unit. I wasn’t going to take a chance on Dreamland satellites. They’re strictly digital radio emission. I hope they are really working here. This one says our friends are parked somewhere only about ten miles away.”
“So you don’t want to tell me why you became a Federal agent. It’s okay. I understand.”
Rogers hesitated and squirmed in her chair. “Scott once asked me the same thing. It’s an ugly little story. Short version is, a terrorist murdered my father. After complaining until I was blue in the face about the investigation, and getting continually told the file was classified, I went into law enforcement and eventually reached a level where the info was no longer classified to me. I got to see everything, including the photos. A terrorist named Katalia murdered him for information. I’ve been looking for him ever since.”
“I’m sorry. If I can ever help, I will.”
Rogers smiled. “Like I always say, we do make a great team.” She looked down at the tracking readout and her eyes widened. “Uh-oh. They’re on the move. Let’s hope they’re on their way back.”
They waited anxiously, watching out the windows as the little green tracking indicator moved closer and closer to the center of the round screen. Finally, to Rogers’ Glee, the car pulled up in front of the garage. Alaman and his associate emerged, as nervous as ever, and to their surprise, a third figure climbed out of the back. It was a balding man in loose-fitting gray clothing and sandals. He turned and looked up and down the street, seemingly more at ease than the other two. Cassiopia looked at Rogers and found her staring wide-eyed at the new arrival. She seemed in shock, and unable to look away. She stood frozen in the moment, her expression locked in astonishment. As the men went to the office door and unlocked it, Rogers gaze remained on the third man. They entered and shut the door behind them.
Cassiopia spoke. “An accomplice.”
Rogers did not speak. She continued to stare as though hypnotized.
“Ann, are you okay?”
Rogers turned to look at Cassiopia, but the frozen stare remained.
“Ann?”
It took a few moments, but Rogers finally snapped out of it.
“Ann, are you okay?”
“What? It’s nothing. I just got distracted.”
“Are you sure? You seemed completely out of it.”
“No. We’re good. We just need to wait for the step van. I’d guess it won’t be long. It’ll take us where we need to be.”
“How much time before you-know-who wakes up?”
“We have a good three hours left. Let me show you this tracking device. See the green circular readout. We’re at the center of it. Down here at the bottom, this slide switch that says ‘channels.' The ‘A’ channel is their car. The ‘B’ channel is the truck. You can select both if you need to. Got it?”
Cassiopia shook her head. As she did, the office door opened once more. They watched the third man exit. He looked around casually and climbed into the car. Rogers again became transfixed on the man. She was so close to the glass of the window, Cassiopia had to put a hand on her shoulder and pull her back. The car made the same U-turn in the street and drove away.
“He was brought here to take the car away,” said Cassiopia. “They must be getting ready to leave.”
Once again, Rogers had become unresponsive. She stared into the distance as though still watching the car, though it was long out of sight.
“Ann?”
Rogers leaned back and focused. “That’s it. The truck will be pulling out any time now. You drive in case I have to get out and run. It’ll be the same deal. Keep at least a block and a half behind them. They can’t get away now. We’ll be tracking them.”
No sooner had Rogers spoken than the garage roll-up door partially opened.
“That’s it. Check your intercom, Cass. Go have the car ready. I’ll update you from here.”
Cassiopia squeezed her transmit button as she headed for the door. “I’m on it.” She pushed her way out and jump-stepped down the stairs and out into the alleyway behind the building. She wove her way through the garbage cans and discarded office furniture toward the spot where they had parked. The street was just ahead, but as she approached it, a dark figure emerged from behind a building. Cassiopia slowed her pace but continued toward him. He wore a grubby, torn overcoat with black sneakers that had holes. His hair was long and dirty and his beard unkempt. He stopped and eyed Cassiopia with an invasive stare and turned to face her. His hands were soiled, and he gave a half-smile as she neared.
Cassiopia looked around for a weapon. An amber, empty whiskey bottle lay on the ground near a gutter. As discreetly as possible, she scooped it up and concealed it behind her back.
“Well hi there,” he called in a condescending tone.
Cassiopia did not reply.
“Got any money you can spare for an injured vet?”
Cassiopia stopped. Rogers’ voice cut in. “Door’s all the way up, Cass. They’ll be rolling shortly. Get ready.”
“What branch and what unit?” Cassiopia asked.
“What branch a’ what?” was his answer.
“What branch of the service did you see action in?”
“That’s bullshit. You upper-class snobs are all the same. Why don’t you just give me what you got and be happy ‘bout it?”
Cassiopia started to go around him, but he sidestepped to block her.
“How ‘bout a little you and me then? How ‘bout that?”
Cassiopia suddenly realized this was the first time she faced real danger without Scott or Ann by her side. All those times Scott had hounded her to learn self-defense now became irritating reminders that she had not. At least he had forced her to learn a few things. Always keep out of arms reach of the assailant. Circle so that you are not a stationary target. Look around you and use your environment as a weapon. She had done that one! She clutched tightly at the bottle hidden behind her. If you cannot run away, go for the knees. It’s hard to grab someone when they are kicking at your knees.
The man took a step forward. Cassiopia backed one-step away. The intercom squelched on. “Cassiopia, they’re backing out, be ready.”<
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The man began a slow, determined advance toward her. She crouched, bent at the knees and got ready. He reached out one arm expecting to grab her and as he stepped with his right leg, she swung the bottle and hit him squarely on the side of the right knee. His eyes went wide and he swung back around yelling at the top of his lungs. He hopped and stumbled, and bent over holding the offended leg, yelling and cursing as he went.
Cassiopia charged by him, and at the sidewalk darted around the building. She barely stopped to look and crossed over to the waiting sedan. She pitched the bottle and fumbled the keys, but finally turned the lock and climbed in, and in one smooth movement twisted the ignition and started the car.
Rogers’ excited voice blared in over the headset. “I’m on my way. They headed west. I’ll be there in a second.” Her voice was breathless and distorted from running.
Cassiopia clicked the unlock button on the armrest just as Rogers yanked the passenger door open. Without speaking, they pulled out and turned in the direction of Alaman’s panel truck. Rogers stared down intently at the tracking unit. “Straight on,” she said without looking up. Cassiopia pressed on the accelerator until they were traveling as fast as she dared.
“Was there some kind of trouble back there?” asked Rogers as they settled into pursuit. “I heard some yelling over the intercom.”
“Some guy was blocking my way.”
“A big guy or a little guy?”
“A tall guy.”
“So what’d you do?”
“I whacked him on the knee with an empty bottle.”
“What? You?”
“Well, what else could I do?”
“Cry and whine?”
“Come on.”
“Let me get this straight. A guy attacks a teeny-weeny girl who looks like an angel, and she smashes his knee with a soda bottle?”
“It was a whiskey bottle, and I do not look like an angel. Geez, you’re starting to sound like Scott.”
Rogers began to laugh uncontrollably. “That poor man. He thought he was about to screw an angel and he ends up minus a knee. What a letdown.”
Cassiopia cast a look of dismay and kept driving.
After a few miles, they began to pick up traffic. The city was becoming more alive. People began to populate the sidewalks. Stores and offices were open. The roadway was alive with landscaping. After several turns, Rogers began to get excited. “I see where this is going,” she said, shaking her head in anticipation. “They’re going to get Highway 29 and head east next. I’ll bet you anything.”
They began to draw too close to the truck. Rogers cast an apprehensive glance at Cassiopia, but a red light solved the problem. Just as Rogers had predicted, a sign ahead read ‘29 NEXT RIGHT,' and in the distance they caught sight of the truck making the turn.
“Where?” Cassiopia finally asked.
“Don’t you recognize this place, girl? You need zombies on the sidewalk to remind you?”
“The White House? They’re trying to get to the White House?”
“No way. They’d never make it. But they only need to get close, and not very close, either. Wherever they’re going, it’s been all set up in advance. I guarantee you they went in somewhere, screwed up an air conditioner unit so a replacement would be needed. They waited for a service request to be put in, and then intercepted the drivers and substituted their own air conditioner. Now somewhere ahead, some office is expecting them to show up and install the new unit, which they will, and then be merrily on their way, outside the blast radius. It’s a nice plan. No red flags. Everything being done routinely.”
The light changed. Cassiopia turned off onto Highway 29, weaving through traffic to get closer. The truck was nowhere in sight. Rogers stared down at the tracking unit. “It’s okay. You’re still closing. They’re going to turn off somewhere ahead, though. We’ll need to watch them unload and place the unit. It should be easy. There should be a crane and a large forklift waiting.”
Cassiopia spotted the truck. It had moved to the far right lane. She cut in too close to get the lane, and a driver hit his horn to confirm his displeasure. Neither woman paid any attention. Finally, the truck signaled a right turn. Fourteenth Avenue. Rogers was beside herself. “I don’t believe it.”
Up ahead the boom of a large crane rose above the buildings. At the intersection with F Street North, the truck turned off and pulled into a sectioned off area with cones and caution tape. “Cruise right on by and pull over at the gate up ahead. Let’s get out and watch to be sure.”
Cassiopia pulled into a reserved parking spot by a guard’s station. A uniformed man inside stepped out to admonish them, but Rogers flashed her badge and yelled, “Just a couple minutes.” The guard waved and returned to his post.
“Do you know which building?” asked Cassiopia.
“See that big building on the left? That’s the Department of the Treasury. What better place to destroy, if your backers are wanting to harm the U.S. dollar. I’m betting they’re using the office complex just south of F Street. Not only do they set off a nuclear device next door to the White House and Treasury Department, that thing is going to be put on the roof. They’ll set it off several stories above ground. The radiation cloud will have ten times more range. People that aren’t killed by the blast will get a big dose. It’s a perfectly hideous plan.”
They watched as the truck was unloaded and the crane brought around to lift the unit. At the same time, the old unit was loaded into the truck. Rogers guess had been correct. The crane lifted its cargo, swung over the south building and lowered away. She took a deep breath and touched Cassiopia on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. There’s one more quick stop I need to make.”
Chapter 26