Without Wrath (Harbinger of Change Book 3)

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  The operator said, “Because the ferry blew up today, where have you been?”

  White as a ghost, he turned on radio and didn’t have to search for the story as it was on every channel. The news was unbelievable, it left him dumbfounded and grasping for comprehension. How could this be? What horrible timing for his wife and son, and now he had no idea where they were or who had even taken them?

  Now it made sense why no emergency personnel had arrived, they were all at the ferry. Out of options, he dialed 911. He got put on hold. After five minutes on hold, he got an operator who gave him the name of the ambulance company they had been forced to use. It was another five minutes on hold until they finally answered. They didn’t have her. He hung up and screamed in the car at the top of his lungs. He slammed the dash and tried to rip the steering wheel out while he was driving, swerving into the other lane as he did so.

  He was the only person in the world who could go out for a cathartic moment in nature and get pulled out of it by something so horrific as this. Why didn’t he get more information from the stranger? His stress level was at the point where he’d better not have any faulty vessels in his head or he would stroke out. He was going over ninety now weaving through traffic when his phone rang. The caller ID said “Jan.”

  He answered with a frantic, “Yes.”

  It was the ambulance attendant. He had Jan and Jon, they were still unconscious but stable. They were being rerouted all the way to Anacortes as the hospitals in Seattle, Tacoma, and Everett were all inundated with casualties from the ferry explosion. Some were going as far as Portland. The attendant’s name was Jerry and he worked for Tier Ambulance.

  He said they were mostly involved in Medical Transportation for non-emergencies, but a few of their personnel, including him, were EMTs. Jerry explained that when they were pulling away from the park a woman flagged them down and said the backpack was Jan’s. She also said there was a phone inside and she had called the husband and informed him.

  According to Jerry, the severely injured were counting in the hundreds, so there was no hospital to take them to except for Anacortes. That was the call their boss made. A call was placed to Anacortes and they were waiting for them now. All vitals had been sent ahead.

  Jerry further explained that the witnesses who had stepped forward said they both just fell. No one was around them or could have assaulted them. They had no external injuries except abrasions to Jan’s face that occurred when she fell. Matt took it all in, thanked Jerry, and told him to please keep him apprised if anything changed on the way to the hospital.

  According to Jerry, they were coming up to Everett, so Matt whipped off on the next exit. Although he had passed the Anacortes exit ten minutes back, he knew another way through the town of Skagit. According to Jerry, their vitals were good and he had no idea of why they lost consciousness or why they wouldn’t wake up now. He had never seen anything like it.

  It was a fifteen-minute drive out to Anacortes, but, of course, there was some backed up traffic in town, too many people driving on a sixty-year old system. He had the news on low volume, but he had been listening and was shocked to find out that the ferry was only half the story.

  Apparently, a Southwest flight had gotten into trouble and lost both engines. The pilot landed the plane in the Sound, barely missing the ferry. It was after the plane water landed safely that the ferry blew up, literally splitting in half.

  There had been some physical contact between the plane and the ferry, but the initial reports were that the plane sheered off the communications tower and mast of the ship, causing nothing more than superficial damage. Matt’s head was spinning. Why was this happening? Was it coincidence?

  And there it was. When he was an investigator, he learned something very valuable—through trial and error—and that was that he didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.

  Suddenly he got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. If TJAC did this and made him out to be a homegrown terrorist, it would start all over again for him. Maybe their payback was going to be to set him up and pin this on him—Jan and Jon’s situation, too.

  His similarities to Oswald were mounting again. He even left the country there for a while. Expat with a grudge, Hell, even the President himself was tight with Chase and had recommended this path for him over the CIA.

  He was very confused as he thought about all those close conversations with Chase and Jim. He really couldn’t believe that they were doing this to him. They were supposed to be representing the side of good here, the side of social justice and the better of the community.

  He made his mind up right then and there. If he saw this thing spinning that way or anything that would lead him to believe that he was to be made into some sort of patsy, he would disappear, and when he reappeared, he would live up to their wildest media spin of Matt Hurst; especially if anything happened to Jan or Jon.

  It occurred to him that maybe he had been part of a long-term con, a grift to build him up and then turn him into a killer—either set him up, or set him off.

  Damn this world was full of fucking evil people.

  He was now merging with the road coming from the north heading to Anacortes. But his mind was in that place where one just didn’t know what the hell was going on, or what was going to happen. Matt’s imagination was running wild, and then he thought of his parents. What the heck is going on there?

  He left messages on every machine the Hurst clan owned. He called their apartment again. No answer. He called their cell phone. No answer. And finally he called his house. No answer. With each and every no answer his blood pressure increased until it was now boiling over, his apprehension of the unknown was mounting. He was so frustrated. Why did everything have to be like this in his life?! He was sure others had uncomplicated lives. He saw them everyday, going about their business with not a care in the world. No one was seeking them, and no one was trying to make them a killer of men.

  Not him, though. He just had to be the guy a whole nation wanted to talk to—while they were able to go home to their families and live their lives.

  The news was softly reporting in the background that the ferry scene was one of total devastation and surely hundreds of lives were potentially lost. The ferry was particularly full as a lot of people were attending a concert in Kingston.

  As fate would have it, Matt turned off the increasingly redundant news radio just as the reporter was talking with Southwest pilot, Douglas Sharp, who said he observed two objects buzz by and then his engines were gone.

  When pressed about what he thought those objects were, Sharp reported, “I couldn’t exactly say, but it was probably a flock of birds. I guess the investigators will know soon enough.”

  * * *

  Ray Callahan looked across the CIA compound, his office overlooking the old headquarters building. So far his day was going well. He had gotten up at five thirty to run and his wife, Kim, actually joined him, which thrilled him to no end as they had such little time together.

  They lived in a gated and guarded community near Georgetown, and although Hillandale was exclusive and patrolled, they had another patrol in tow as well, albeit one they rarely saw when jogging. Having two high-ranking government officials living together did pose a possible National Security Risk, so they had to live with the shadows. Ray hated the reality, but understood the necessity, especially since he’d finally become the director of something.

  The CIA was a very structured organization. There was no room for someone outside the four established divisions (Intelligence, National Clandestine Service, Science and Technology, and Support) to exist. That was until Bob Thompson took over.

  He’d needed two people under him who created a balance for abilities he personally lacked. But it was more than that. He also needed two people outside the box to be able to spot things others in the agency didn’t think of or were too close to see. One of those two had to be a wizard in the quick-analysis department. Bob was an individual who liked
to think things out and Ray was the best at instant assessments.

  Bob also lacked one other thing—and that was ruthlessness. To fill that void he chose Ken Beck, eventually deciding it was he who should get the Deputy Directors seat. Only Beck wasn’t designed to be a bureaucrat, he was a field agent who liked to be out among the people. He was Thompson’s heavy, the one he sent in to bully teams not performing. But it all backfired on him when Beck went Norman Bates.

  When Bob was later pushed into retirement, Ray was suddenly the odd man out. He was technically in the support division, but he had his hands everywhere, especially the Farm. Ray had a way of sniffing out a person’s weaknesses and he would expose those weaknesses that could be exploited until the person broke.

  With Eric in charge, there were no more inter-departmental jobs. In fact, Eric thought it to be utter insanity and Ray could sense a demotion coming, even though he had saved everyone’s butt more times than he could count.

  That was when Eric surprised him and did the right thing, promoting him to Deputy Director NCS (National Clandestine Service). It was a job tailor made for Ray and actually gave him the ability to traverse to other realms inside CIA just as he had before; only he could do it in the right way.

  Of course, all this and the fact his wife was the President’s Chief of Staff, made getting time together very difficult. They had good pacing with each other, so it made running with her easy; just like being married to her, he just found it very natural.

  Ray was brought out of his daydream by the fax machine going off and shooting a paper into the tray. He came back to his desk from the window by rolling his chair across the low carpet, then spun around and brought his computer out of its sleep mode. It was just after lunch and his computer was still on the last Internet page he was on before lunch. He had been shopping for new running shoes.

  In this day and age, there were times that the news media got to a breaking story first. Apparently at 10:03 am PDT a plane went down out of Seattle and an adjacent ferry exploded. He looked at his watch; it was 1:19 pm EDT, sixteen minutes later.

  Ray's personnel were already in scramble mode, and assessments were coming in quickly, but before he got lost in the beehive that was their main control room, he needed to have a serious one-on-one discussion with Director Barnett. He had his own instant assessment the Director needed to hear.

  He hit Eric’s direct number, the Director answering right away. Ray asked, "Got a quick second?"

  The Director replied with some incredulity, “Right now, Ray, we're both needed for assessments.”

  Ray did not back down, “Eric, we need to talk.”

  One minute later he was in the Directors office. Eric Barnett was a man of medium height, carrying a few extra pounds that showed in his face. Not overtly, but his face seemed to have a furrow to it that Ray was not sure would be there without the extra thirty pounds he carried, especially in the eyes area where it gave him a hangdog look. His baldhead was shining in all its glory like he’d just stuck it in a bowling ball washer.

  His looks belied the fact he was a great white shark, not a blue or a leopard. He was strong, fair, opinionated, and in charge at all times. Unlike his predecessor, he did not need people under him to create balance. He was the balance and everyone else fed off of him.

  Ray was instructed to take a chair after he closed the door. Eric spoke first, “Ray, there is a situation that you need to be brought up to speed on. It was a need to know basis, so please don’t get indignant at the news.”

  Ray raised his eyebrows as Eric uttered the next words, “It has been discovered that Pablo Manuel did not die that day when Matt shot him. A hair brush left at his school in France confirmed that the person Matt killed was a double.”

  Sometimes a sentence had so much impact that even a great mind like Ray Callahan’s could not comprehend all its meaning until it was put under the microscope. This sentence had the effect of throwing a brick in the middle of a lake. Ray was not of the ilk to respond to even the most outlandish news with expletives, it was one of the things that made him a legend around here, that and his ability to multitask. His first response was one Eric expected, “This would have been nice for the Director of NCS to have known.”

  “Ray, I agree, but other than the technicians who did the work, the circle of people who knew this had to be very controlled. From my ears to the President, it was his call that no one else was in. President Caulfield figured that the world already thought Manuel was still alive so all the preparation they’d done for this was going to happen anyway. His thinking was to hide Hurst and make pretend that they thought he was dead, from every level of Government.”

  Ray had seen a lot of horrible shit in the last few years, but what was unraveling here was too much, “Are you telling me you staked Hurst out as the sacrificial lamb knowing that a killer was going to go after him and his family? You took our single greatest hero since Audie Murphy and put him out there to be killed?”

  Eric looked hurt at the accusation, “First of all, Ray, it wasn’t my call. I have a boss and he has a mind, you of all people should know that. The President had reason to be scared. With Manuel alive, he feared his ability to cyber strike us was still in play, not to mention the possibility of something like the shit that happened today. His thinking was sound. If the new attack didn’t come right away, then Manuel knew that Hurst betrayed him and would want revenge.

  “So they decided to play it by the numbers and act as if he were really dead. That meant hiding Hurst. Of course, we couldn’t put a permanent detail on him, but we are loosely following him, mostly through cyber space, although we did GPS his car and boat.

  “We also figured out how he was made by Manuel. Your boy likes to blog and you’re right, he is a Patriot for sure, Ray. Some buddies and him got an idea together for a website and he accidently got his picture taken and put on a web article.”

  Ray was still miffed, “Eric, all you’re doing is convincing me that I’m right, you hung him out to dry and didn’t even tell him that a person who wants him and his family dead was alive and kicking. All the while, Matt thought he had killed him.”

  Eric reassured, “We have a detail on him right now. They’re staying way back and will know when to make their move. Least I remind you that the man we seek did this today. Ray, use your power of analyzing and be objective. If Manuel was not dead, then we knew this was not done. Can you imagine an American public that knew what this guy really intended? The depths he was able to penetrate our Government have never been seen and the President made the right call Ray, even if we sacrifice Hurst and his family. Our goal is to protect our Sovereignty. So we wait until Manuel comes after our boy, then we kill him.”

  Ray's expression was beyond apprehension. It was a fusion of absolute rage and total fear, but, of course, he had to temper it when he addressed Eric, “Aside from the fact you are running covert operations out of my department without my knowledge, Eric, all I’m going to say is I hope you sleep good. If we knew this, we should have informed Hurst and moved him under deeper cover. Yes, I see the national implications, but that still doesn’t make it right, and all I can think about is it sure doesn’t pay to be a hero around here, the way we treat them it’s a wonder anyone ever steps up.”

  Eric’s line buzzed, a meeting of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was being called and he had to attend. He addressed Ray in a more relaxed manner, “I’m sorry Ray, but you know how this stuff works. Some of it is pretty dicey and we blur the lines of right and wrong in the pursuit of national interest. That’s our mandate and you know this. You’ve gotten too close to this and that’s another reason why you were left out. It’s not that we didn’t trust you to do your job; it just creates a conflict of interest because you have too much personal time invested in Hurst. Now that you’re in, I need your help, so I will talk to you as soon as I get back.”

  Ray choked back what he really wanted to say and replied in the politically correct way, “Okay Eric, I’ll b
e here.” He got up and left.

  * * *

  Nudging into the seat was uncomfortable. Just carrying one very light travel bag had been a burden. Her back was on fire and, of course, she had had no choice but to take a middle seat for the flight to Houston. There, she was to switch planes and she would be in Seattle a mere six hours later. Dr. Gonzalez pleaded with her not to leave so soon, her back was just getting better and he warned her that if she did anything to aggravate it, she would have a much longer recovery.

  She wore some loose pants that resembled pajamas and a simple tee-top. Her hair was short now for the first time since she was a kid. One of her attackers had mutilated her hair with a switchblade. Lauren remembered her attacker touching the blade to her face and then was complaining that she got blood on it. She then cleaned her blade on her hair, which of course turned out to be a backstreet haircut. She tried to lose the thought and the guy next to her fixed her problem by opening a deli sub and start noshing on it before they were even in the air. She was very glad she had taken two muscle relaxers. Stinky sandwich guy will be a distant memory soon.

  She had called Scott and told him she was coming to Seattle to rehab, that she wanted to be near a familiar face. He was more than receptive, but slightly confused by the news, as he knew that she was obsessed with her story.

  She told him she “needed a break.”

  Of course, he was elated after that, and he was counting the minutes until they saw each other again. She sure hoped he was still talking to her when he figured it all out; not that she didn’t want to see him as well, but this was about her revelation.

  Her pills were kicking in and the disgusting man with the even more disgusting sandwich were becoming less offensive by the second, which meant she was minutes from sleep. Her mind was drifting off in that way a good buzz would help you to sometimes, where you are relaxed enough to step outside yourself.