by Slaton Smith
“Get out,” the agent demanded.
“Sure,” Brian replied, he was happy to get the hell out of there.
The agent watched Brian walk down the hall. He knew who Brian was. His partner was finishing berating Detective Willis. Willis shook his head and walked away. The agent walked over to his partner who was standing in front of the door to Sean’s room.
“She really did a number on these two idiots. We can’t underestimate her,” he said. The other guy nodded.
“Ippolito was poking around in here.” Both men had a file on all of Sean’s known associates. Nothing in Sean’s life was secret any longer.
“He get anything?”
“No. I scared the shit out of him,” he said matter of factly. At the end of the hall the elevator opened and two men in coveralls rolled two gurneys down the hall and into Sean’s room. Wearing gloves and covers on their shoes, they did not speak to the other two agents. They opened a body bag, picked up Bob and placed him in the bag. They zipped it up. They moved the gurney out and brought the second one in, repeated the procedure with Bill. Upon leaving the room, they removed their shoe covers and dropped them on top of the body bags. They got on the elevator and headed to the basement. From there, Bill and Bob were loaded onto a van. Their bodies would never be recovered.
The two agents looked at Detective Willis who was staring at them.
“Willis, another team from our office will be here momentarily to collect evidence and clean up this mess. I assume you know how to seal off this area?”
“I would like to have some sort of follow-up,” Willis said to both agents. They ignored him and walked to the elevator. Brian watched them from behind the nurse’s station desk. To Brian’s relief, they did not make eye contact. Brian placed the cup in an evidence bag. When they turned the corner, Brian strode towards Willis and held up the bag.
“What’s that?” Willis asked.
“The prints from one of the dead guys,” Brian said, handing the bag to Willis. He kept the glove in another bag. Something was really wrong here and Brian was determined to get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, he would follow procedure and let Willis handle it. Besides, it looked like Willis was so pissed-off that he would run this down just to throw it in the FBI’s face.
“Good work.” Willis took the bag and headed for the elevator.
The agents were just getting on the elevator when one of them saw Brian’s reflection in the ceiling mounted mirror, the same mirror Sandy had used to spot Bob and Bill. He saw Brian hand something to the detective. It was clear he taken something from the room. Willis was approaching the elevator, but he let the door close in Willis’ face.
“We have a problem,” the agent said to his partner.
“What?”
“Ippolito passed something to that jack-ass detective.”
“We were told to clean this up. We’ll clean it up,” he said to his partner. The elevator opened, they stepped out and stood in the lobby for a moment. The other elevator opened. Willis stepped out. He said a couple words to a patrolman and hit the down button. He was heading for the basement.
“Go get the car, bring it to the lower level garage,” one of the agents said to the other. He then hustled to the elevator and stuck his hand between the closing doors. Willis did nothing to help open the door for him.
“Great. What do you guys want now?” Willis asked, sarcastically. The agent did not respond.
The door opened on the lower level garage. Willis walked out first. The agent pulled a silenced 9mm Beretta from his coat, pointed it at the back of the detective’s head and pulled the trigger. Willis crumbled to the cold concrete floor. The agent reached down and grabbed the evidence bag, removed the cup and smashed it on the ground. Looking up he could see lights coming down the ramp. A three year old, brown Crown Vic made a sweeping turn and backed up. The other agent popped the trunk, got out of the car and walked around back. He grabbed the detective’s legs, his partner, the arms. They had plenty of practice at this maneuver. They pulled out of the hospital lot and headed down Fifth Avenue to hook up with I-376 and ultimately I-279 south. They dumped the car in the parking lot of an IKEA in Robinson Town Centre before heading south. They figured it would be several days before the stench from the car led to the discovery of the detective’s body. Of course, they would be long gone by then.
IV
I-79 Night Stalker
Western Pennsylvania
Sean was still getting the feel of the chopper. He was instinctively flying it, but part of him was questioning his ability to do it. He was carefully flying over the Oakland area and the Monongahela River.
“We need to hurry! There will be a team behind us,” she said.
“OK. Then let’s see what this thing can do.” He opened up the throttle and pushed the helicopter up to its 130 knot top speed. He figured they would be in Morgantown in thirty minutes. They shot over the South Hills and towards Washington, PA. The police came over the radio and demanded he land. He ignored them.
As they approached Washington, Pennsylvania, Sean came to the realization that they were visible on radar.
“We are too high,” Sean said to Sandy.
“What?”
“We will show up on radar at this altitude.”
“There are too many trees to go any lower, plus it’s dark,” she replied, more than slightly nervous.
“I have an idea.” He flipped on the spotlight attached to the front of the helicopter.
“No. This is not a good idea.”
“It will be fine. We will follow I-79 south all the way in. I know the road.” He toggled the collective and brought the helicopter down to eighty-five feet. He maintained 130 knots, following the interstate. Sandy looked out the window at the road flying by below her. She was still gripping the seat.
“See. No problem.”
Night Stalker indeed.
★★★
In Boston, the phone rang. Waters answered it on the first ring.
“They dropped off the radar,” reported one of Waters’ analysts.
“Where?” Waters asked.
“North of Washington, PA”
“Scramble the Blackhawk. Monitor any chatter.”
“Could be a crash,” the analyst offered.
“It’s not.”
Waters got up from his desk in Boston and gazed out the window. He began thinking about how he was going to extricate himself from this career ending disaster. It was not going to be simple, not any more. He wanted to kick himself. He got greedy. He could hear himself saying one more target, one more assignment. More! More! More! Everything with Sean Garrison and Oscar Pasco had gone so well and had been so easy. Recruiting them for the program took little effort, they then aced the tests and responded exceptionally well to the procedure, with no debilitating side effects. Then Garrison and Pasco started killing. They were the perfect killers, and oh, how he loved to watch them kill. Their prowess fueled his blood lust. Looking back, Robert Waters realized that eliminating them would have been as easy as whispering a couple of words into the phone - no chance of that now. He was going to have to hunt them down one at a time and murder them and anyone assisting them.
Waters sighed, turned from the window and returned to his desk.
★★★
Sean looked ahead and saw the Welcome to West Virginia highway sign off to the right side of the road. “Wild and Wonderful.” He smiled.
“Almost there,” he said.
“Good!” Sandy replied.
He crossed over the highway and up over the trees and shot straight towards Morgantown.
“You need to put this down near the basketball arena,” Sandy said.
“The Coliseum?”
“Whatever.”
“It’s not a whatever,” Sean told her. As they came up fast on the Coliseum, he saw a good spot in the soccer fields adjacent to the Shell Building. He flew over the field and brought the nose up to reduce air speed, slowing to twenty k
nots. He slid over the field and reduced the collective. The helicopter touched down and Sean reduced all power. He smiled broadly and looked over at Sandy.
V
Best Small Town in America
Morgantown, WV
Sunday Morning
“Thank god!” She said as she reached back and grabbed the backpack. She handed Sean the duffel. The cold air hit them as they stepped out of the chopper. Sandy pulled out her red fleece and put it on.
“You have one of those for me?” Sean asked.
She reached into the duffel and tossed him a black pullover.
The rotors were still turning slowly as they headed off the field. Sandy handed Sean the duffel.
“This is heavy,” he said bouncing it in his left hand.
“Yes, it is. Do you think I pull guns out of thin air?” Sandy snapped.
“Can I have one?”
“Not yet.” She took a set of keys out of the backpack. Sean put the duffel over his shoulder and she pulled the backpack on and both jogged through the parking lot adjacent to the field. Pressing the unlock button on the key fob, Sandy searched for their transportation.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for our new car. I bought it here in Morgantown, had the dealer park it in this lot and mail me the keys.” She continued pushing the fob. No luck.
“You don’t know what it looks like?”
“I ordered it on the phone back in July. It’s a pick-up truck,” she answered, holding the key like it was a divining rod.
“Hmmm. There are only 10,000 pick-ups in West Virginia. Half of them are parked here,” he teased, watching her make her way through the lot.
“I see why your friend calls you dummy,” she retorted.
“It’s a term of endearment,” Sean replied, just as a pair of headlights on a new silver Silverado Z71 extended cab flashed up ahead.
“Is it?” She answered. Opening the passenger door, she threw the backpack into the back seat and tossed Sean the keys. He caught them and deposited the duffel in the back seat.
“You drive. You seem to know your way around,” she said.
“Sure. Where are we heading?” He opened the door and got behind the wheel. It was a nice truck. Black leather interior and four-wheel drive.
“South.”
Sean pulled the truck out of the spot and turned right exiting the Coliseum lot. It would be light in an hour. He was still in a state of shock. He thought to himself, “How did I do it? How did I fly that thing?”
“The interstate is back that way!” she said, glaring at him.
“Let’s cut through campus.”
“No. That is not part of the plan.”
“I am changing the plan,” he said looking at her. What was she going to do? She expected him to follow her plan.
“I don’t like it.”
“Noted.” The University Creative Arts Center and Erickson Alumni Center were on the left. They headed towards campus, continuing down Beechhurst Avenue, and under the PRT tracks – a monorail of sorts. He pointed at them.
“That’s the PRT.”
“Noted,” she said mocking him and staring out the window. They drove past the power plant on the right. The road roughly followed the banks of the Monongahela River. He slowed the truck and turned left onto Sixth Street.
“Where are we going?” she asked, scowling at him.
“Just a quick stop. Sunnyside. I want to show you where I used to live.”
“No. No. This is enough. You realize there are people planning to kill you? Planning to kill me?”
“I sure do. Thanks for reminding me. Now I see why we get along so well.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she replied.
He drove the truck up the steep hill that was Sixth Street, turned right onto Grant Avenue, drove half a block, stopped and gestured at a shanty of a house. It was white or used to be. The paint was peeling off. It had a small front porch and a wooden door. There were trashcans on the front porch - the house had clearly seen better days. He pointed up at the house.
“Brian and I used to live here, right in the heart of Sunnyside,” he said proudly. She leaned forward, looked at the house and made a face.
“So, you used to live in Sunnyside, but now live in Shadyside?” She said, mocking him again.
“I have never put it together like that, but yes.”
“This house should be condemned. I am surprised it didn’t come down on top of you. In fact, most of this area needs to be torn down.” She leaned back in the seat.
“Now, that’s not nice. We had a great time here.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. The tour over?” As she spoke, they felt a rumble, looked out the back window and saw a Blackhawk pass over Grant Avenue.
“We can’t get on the interstate now. We will really stick out. There’s no traffic at this hour. This is not New York City,” he said, watching the Blackhawk head towards the abandoned LifeFlight chopper.
“We need a place to sit for awhile,” she said.
“Let’s go.” He turned left onto Third Street, which was more of an alley than a street. He turned right onto University Avenue and headed towards the downtown campus. He went down and around the Stadium Loop, past the business school. The truck crested the other side of the hill and he slowed and looked at Woodburn Circle to his right. On his left was Oglebay Hall and farther to the left was the student union, the Mountainlair. He turned left and took his first right into an alley that ran behind the bookstore and into a parking garage. They drove into the parking structure.
“What are we doing here?” Sandy asked as Sean parked the truck.
“We are going to hide out here.”
“Really?” she said, skeptically. He opened the door and started to get out and she grabbed his arm.
“Yes, really,” he said. He looked at her hand on his arm. “You know, you have lovely hands.” She started to smile. “Come on. Let’s go inside. I’m hungry.”
“Ok.” She reached over and grabbed the duffel and the backpack, placing the gun in the waistband of her pants, pulling the red fleece over it.
“You’re not taking that in are you?” He pointed at the duffel.
“Well, I can’t really leave it here.” He shrugged and started walking towards the entrance. He clicked the key fob and locked the door. They walked through the nearly empty garage. It would start filling up shortly. They walked down three steps to a loading dock area behind the building and immediately took a door into the Mountainlair. There was a large double door in front of them. Sean stopped and pointed at a concealed weapon sign.
“You’re in trouble,” he said, opening the door for her. She didn’t respond. Together they walked into the common area of the student union. It was nearly 5:30 A.M. A smattering of people milling about - even though it was Sunday - some were still studying. Those like Sean were still sleeping it off all around the city. They found a table in the back that had an exit close by and afforded them a view of the room. The Mountainlair had a food court and several national brands had outlets. The Dunkin Donuts looked like it was about to open. It would be the only place open on Sunday for a while. They sat down and they looked at each other. It was the first time they had stopped moving in a couple hours.
“I am going to get some coffee and breakfast.” He stood up and then looked down at Sandy, “I need to borrow a couple bucks.” Sandy reached into the backpack and handed him a $20.
“I will have the same thing as you.”
“You got it.” He walked across the room, zigzagging between chair and tables. The restaurant counters were in an open area. A large set of stairs, off to the side of the food court, took people to the second level of the building and out onto the plaza. He walked up to the Dunkin counter.
“Good morning!” he said to a girl that had to be around nineteen. She was wearing an orange colored polo and Dunkin visor. She did not look happy to be at work.
“Can I get you something?” she aske
d mechanically. Sean was certain she would rather be in bed. He looked at the menu board.
“One large black coffee. One large decaf. Four sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches,” he said with his hands on the counter and eyes on the menu board.
“This all for you?” she asked, as she rang it up.
“No, for her too.”
The girl looked across the room at Sandy.
“I hate her,” she said. Sean laughed.
“Why?” he said, chuckling.