Whirlwind: Where are our Children ( A Serial Novel) Episode 9 of 9

by Gary Sapp

Rice from their respective positions in the warring parties. Dr. Seth Dupree is shocked to see a large band of Pandora allies surround the Peacekeeper cell he’d been tethered with overnight—only to see them turn their backs of their leader James Carter as Quincy Morgan and his crew beat him to death and finally behead him. Seth soon learns that the treachery was sanctioned by Serena herself to rid her organization of hatemongers who don’t have a place in her view of a new world order. Thomas fights against his instincts to stay in his hotel, in relative safety, and ventures out into downtown in a desperate search for Lucy Burgess who he gave up to a House in Chains in exchange for an extension of the Zero Hour hours earlier. He finds death along every step of his journey including Lucy who has been tortured and stripped of her dignity and her clothing before she dies finally succumbs to her injuries in his arms. Roxanne and Angel finally square off with both women airing their grievances before an earthquake hits the city and tosses the Marta they were riding on its side. And yet, it is Seth who witnesses that manmade destruction can be as or even more devastating as he witnesses the middling stage of Scar—young suicide bombers detonating themselves in highly populated areas of the city.

  Hugh Keaton nearly succumbs to his natural instincts, but with the aid of Angel, puts Atlanta’s kidnapped children in a great position to be rescued by the authorities. Chris arrives on the scene as he promises but there is danger all around from independent citizens who have taken to the streets with one ambition in mind: They want to be the one to kill Hugh Keaton, whether the children have been brought back safely or not. Local television helicopters take to the air and Keaton can fight his impulses embedded in his brain from the past no longer. He runs away from the safety net that Chris, Angel, Moses and the other children were providing him—and he is gunned down by several snipers’ bullets. He would not be the lone Pandora agent to die this night, however. An injured Serena Tennyson has worked her way back to the Bank America building to oversee her Whirlwind from a panoramic view from high above. She is suffering even more internally than the bruises and scars are showing to the outside world. Thomas Pepper is the first on the scene and he has called the FBI to try to end this without further bloodshed. Serena has many confessions before the emotional reunion is ended. One of which is that she tells Christopher Prince that she has fabricated the death sentence that was revealed to him by his personal doctor days earlier. Angel is reminded of her suffering that is still to come. And just before the van carrying an imprisoned Serena explodes on a previously undetonated pipe bomb, she does reveal to Thomas that he is the one that has only months left to live.

  Angel

  Justice Price called Special Agent Nicholas Sheridan to the podium for the last time.

  The Congressional Hearing Room here at the Department of Justice here in Washington D.C. had been slow to warm, mirroring the mid-morning October day outside in the nation’s capital. Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree blew her hot breath into her hands for the third time in as minutes for warmth. It didn’t seem to be helping. She watched Sheridan rise from his seat in the first row of the galley and take his short, but yet, long trek to the witness stand. He was wearing his best black suit with matching tie and shoes. He looked to be even more business minded than usual. He still had a nice ass. Angel noted that his hair looked even more gray than when he’d first come to recruit her inside that coffee house all of those months ago in Macon. And this promotion will likely bald it within five years. Sheridan’s wife looked so proud. The woman’s smile lit up what was an otherwise clean but bland chamber of coffee colored desks and chairs and portraits presidents long dead or voted out of office.

  Christopher Prince was seated three rows behind her, just near enough to observe the proceedings without straining to see the specifics. She couldn’t quite read what her childhood friend was thinking and that fact troubled her some. She’d always had been able to gauge his moods before, but he’d been a tough read since that night that Serena Tennyson had died in a fireball of one of her own pipe bombs as her vision of a Whirlwind had come to a fiery close. Something in him had died as well apparently and that had been a good thing. Christopher looked like a man who had emerged from a shell as man reborn. He’d dropped all of the extra baggage around his midsection, but had gained width in his arms and legs while his chest looked chiseled. She wouldn’t have believed the transformation if she had not witnessed the process of diet, exercise and—force of will for herself.

  Agent Tabitha Blue’s overbite was in full bloom this morning as she looked as happy as if she were Sheridan’s kid sister accompanying him to a sports banquet as he received an award for player of the year. Angel found herself smiling at her, just a bit. On the surface at least, Blue looked as if she’d recovered from her injuries that she’d suffered during one of those nights of horror than no one involved in this room would ever forget. But I wonder where you are underneath that smile…that jovial mask that you wear so well, Agent Blue.

  The entire Justice Department had attended the ceremony. Angel decided that they probably had little say so in that regard. Considering that the last appointed Director of the FBI, Raymond Rice, had succumb to the temptations of Pandora and the fantasies of a new world order…this appointment, this transition of power within the bureau was now the most important nomination in the history of its existence since its founding.

  “Nicholas Andrew Sheridan you should raise your right hand,” Justice Price said aloud for the entire room to hear.

  Sheridan did so and for the first time this morning, he couldn’t fight off the smile that was creeping on his face weathered but handsome face. Justice Price struggled to bite back a similar grin that had fallen on her wrinkled mouth as well.

  “Now you’ve got to behave, Nicholas, if we’re going to get through this proceeding before lunch.” She said and the entire galley broke into a hardy laugh and then light applause. She gave everyone a chance to settle back down and read her lines to him without looking once at the prompter.

  The new Deputy Director of the FBI accepted his new title and all the responsibilities that accompanied it when she had finished her spill at last.

  “Congratulations,” They shook hands and Angel heard the firm but polite applause begins yet again.

  “Thank you, Justice Price,” Sheridan said to her just loud enough to be heard over the dwindling applause. “It is my honor to serve both this department and the people of this country for which I love with all of my heart and soul.”

  The clapping amplified itself in volume and intensity with his words as the sound echoed off of the chamber’s walls.

  Deputy Director Sheridan addressed the media that was waiting like starving vultures in a nearby press room. He gave a prepared opening declaration and made himself available for a short Q&A and issued a closing statement and walked off without looking back. 45 minutes had passed when Sheridan joined Justice Price and a hand full of her colleagues who had stayed behind in an adjacent conference room awaiting his arrival. Agents Christopher Prince and Tabitha Blue had been invited to the short meeting—as was Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree.

  Justice Price:

  She was nearing 60 years old. If she were an automobile then she would have had the body of an older body Buick, but would have been carrying a Camaro’s new engine underneath the hood. She sat her butt on the edge of one of the tables, smoothed out her skirt, and let everyone else settle in where they may. She ran her hand through her short but stylish haircut once before she issued her own opening statement to those left behind to hear it.

  “Now that the media show is over and done with my friends and I wanted to meet with you, Sheridan, on a more intimate level. We had a couple of specific questions for you and those who had served directly under your command during all that madness that went down in Atlanta in the spring.”

  “Of course, Justice,” Sheridan couldn’t help but arch a bushy gray brow of curiosity. She could feel her own curved brow rising in anticipation as well. Now this should be entertaini
ng. “How could I be of service?”

  Justice Price exhaled audibly and then put her thoughts to words.

  “You should know this already, Sheridan, but I will remind you that your first few months—likely your first year on this gig won’t be very pleasant.”

  “I’m sure they won’t be, Justice,” Sheridan nodded at her. “There are far too many questions that have gone unanswered post 411. Even in the months that I’ve served in this position in an unofficial capacity, we haven’t learned enough about the variables from many sides in the days and months that preceded the attacks. I want to assure you that I won’t rest until this agency provides detailed specifications—and more importantly names of those who were and still are involved with Pandora. I’m going to follow that trail to whatever end it leads me. You have my word on that.”

  “My colleagues and I have every confidence that you will.” Justice Price looked back at the empty expressions of her colleagues that said otherwise.

  One of the two men, a second Justice that Angel knew as Frank Berry stepped in front of Price with his glasses hanging over his nose.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Sheridan for being blunt,” He said