Miami Fire

by Rick Murcer

  “Like what, for example?” asked Alex, his interest growing.

  “Argyle’s mind control experiments for one. The CIA’s involvement in Africa and in Venezuela and the resources allocated to certain groups of rebels, and my favorite had to do wid the DEA agents taking huge bribes from the Mexican cartels. And before you ask, mon, yes, it happened and more than once.”

  “Wait, before you go any further, you told us you were a US Marshal and worked with the DEA and didn’t get involved in espionage and that spy world shit,” said Alex.

  “I did, I just didn’t tell you everything. You didn’t need to know all of da dirty little secrets.”

  “So when Josh had you arrested, that was a ruse? You already knew each other? If you did, you fooled the hell out of all of us, even Manny.”

  “Yes, to both questions. In a twisted way, part of the deception was to keep me away from Manny before he finished putting together what he would eventually figure out. I know that I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, no doubt dat, but I have never seen the likes of that man. He would have been a hell of a deep undercover agent.”

  “Go on,” said Alex.

  He was trying his level best to not look at his wife, but he felt her eyes on him, no doubt reading like she had always done.

  Always.

  “The second reason for having me arrested in such a public way was to make sure that the three agencies would believe that no one was untouchable when it came to breaking the rules. Which it appeared I did by conspiring to commit murder, a huge no-no for our group. The pretend arrest allowed me to dig deeper into something that needed to be investigated in a less than orthodox way. I’m not going to go into that here, but that cover allowed us to discover what was truly going on with some of dat prosthetic research.”

  “Which was?”

  The giant of a man dabbed at his perspiring forehead, giving him that Mister Clean look, enhanced by his gold earrings and that sudden, gleaming white grin.

  “Barb?” asked Braxton, motioning toward his wife.

  At first, Alex didn’t look at her, balancing his indescribable love for her against the realization that she had been living another life.

  Usually that particular nuance was reserved for men whose wives gradually discover that their hidden fears were a reality. That their knight in shining armor had three other wives or was a serial killer rapist who doubled as a mild-mannered accountant and dedicated family man. Not for men who worked as cops and thought their wives were staying at home, doing charity work, and visiting their mothers or some other normal function.

  He felt her long, warm fingers caress his cheek and was powerless to resist. He turned in her direction.

  “Weapons research, Alex,” she said. “Your new hand will do all that the research says it will, giving you the best bio technology of its kind on earth. It can do all that it’s designed to do. What the brochure didn’t say, so to speak, was that the circuitry could also be modified, with just a few tweaks, to add some seriously dangerous weaponry.”

  “What? Like what and how would they do that? I think I would know if there was some super sophisticated automatic laser gun or whatever, attached to my damned hand.”

  “Way too many cyborg movies for you,” she said. “It wouldn’t be that obvious, of course. It would be more like a concentration of some germ-warfare agent or even a small dirty bomb. Whatever the situation would call for at the time. All they would have to do is call you in to the hospital for a systems check or an upgrade and set it up.”

  “Who in the hell is they?” asked Alex.

  “That’s a billion-dollar mystery, of sorts. When you and Josh went to Vegas, I went to a designated meeting with an informant, supposedly, to find out more about who is paying these doctors exorbitant amounts of money to install the circuitry and software that makes your hand more than a prosthetic limb. It didn’t go well, and the woman was dead when I got there. We’ve had nothing but dead ends since. We’re hoping that a couple of our associates can help loosen the tongue of your two surgeons, but we suspect that will be a dead end too.”

  “Wait, you’re interrogating two world-renowned surgeons to see who might be behind something that I’m having a hard time believing is even true?”

  “It don’t matter what you believe, Alex. It only matters that we know the truth,” said Braxton.

  “He’s right, Alex.”

  “It sounds like paranoia to me.”

  “It’s not. At any rate, we know the brains behind this is someone employed by one of the three agencies. We suspect someone high up, but we haven’t been able to track that individual down.”

  “That’s just freaking crazy. How would arming me with a weapon work exactly? I work for the BAU and do forensic work. Using me, and killing my fat ass in the process, makes no sense.”

  “It would totally depend on the desired effect. You travel all over the country and then some. Plus, you’re a Fed. That makes you a perfect candidate for this kind of manipulation.”

  Alex’s head spun with the sudden change in his fortunes, not to mention his wife’s involvement in all of this. These two believed what they were saying. Braxton as a fruitcake was one thing, but his wife? No matter how hard he wanted to believe this was just some fabrication, he was losing the battle. They were right on one thing. If someone could really pull the strings Barb and Braxton were saying they could and would have a reason to use him for some horrifying attack, he, with his FBI credentials, could get into places most could not.

  He laid his head back, considering his next step. It came to him. He looked to his beautiful wife, who had somehow become even sexier.

  “I need for you to tell me in what situation this weapon thing could be used, and I need proof. I’m a damned scientist, for crying out loud.”

  “I can do both,” she said.

  Her confidence in her answer caused a shiver to spider down his spine. The last of his doubtful resolve was evaporating quickly.

  “You were in Ireland a couple of years ago, then San Juan, and we just got back from Mexico, right?”

  He nodded.

  “What if, for some ungodly reason, this individual, if it is an individual, wanted to stir up trouble between two factions that were always in tension status? God knows there are dozens of those to choose from. What if they wanted to start a war by killing a group of leaders or unleashing some chemical or germ agent and then spin it so it was the other side’s doing?”

  “That sounds out there. And why?”

  “Why is always a good question, usually money or a power spin that leads to money. As for out there, really? How about Bosnia? Or maybe Rwanda and the genocide of hundreds of thousands of innocents. Or maybe Somalia. Hell, let’s not even mention the Middle East and Iraq and Iran. Do you think that those conflicts evolved on their own momentum?”

  No. No, he didn’t.

  “I can continue all night, but you love empirical, measurable evidence so let me give it to you.”

  She nodded to the first man who’d entered the room with her, and he walked around Alex’s left while snapping on blue rubber gloves.

  With dexterity Alex wouldn’t have thought possible for a man that size, he bent toward the machine stabilizing his arm. In a few seconds, he had removed three of the long pins and lifted a small metal plate from the backside of Alex’s wrist or forearm—Alex wasn’t sure which because that side of his arm was hidden from his view.

  The man held the plate out to Alex. He exhaled, then reached over with his right hand and took it.

  “Read the print on the lower left of that plate,” said Barb.

  Holding the plate higher to get more light exposure, he squinted to read the fine print.

  NOT TO EXCEED SIXTEEN OUNCES. OVERLOAD COULD CAUSE FUNCTIONAL DAMAGE.

  “So?”

  “That is the cover for a tiny compartment that can be filled with anything from plutonium to Ebola.”

  “That’s what you say.”

&
nbsp; “If I’m lying, then why would there be an empty compartment in an area under your arm? In all of your research and the information Josh provided to you, did you see any prototypes with that particular feature? How would that fit into an efficient design?”

  She had him there. He and Dean had even stayed up late one night, going over the specs and how well the prosthesis had been designed to look like his wrist and forearm, in size at least.

  The man took the plate from Alex’s hand, replaced it, and then moved back to the door where he’d been standing.

  Alex let all that he’d just heard and read sink in further. He figuratively placed himself in the context of a crime scene and mulled the facts and evidence that could lead to some definitive conclusions. It helped him to mentally go to a place that could help him sort out what he’d been told.

  Action, however, was far better than words.

  Barb and Braxton had brought him here, at probably great risk to all involved. They obviously had some forethought into what they would have to do after the surgery and prepared this room. Why do all of that? It sure as hell wasn’t some practical joke or elaborate kidnap attempt. Who would want to kidnap him anyway? Surely not his wife. Again why?

  And, now that he thought about it with less emotion, why had the government agreed to pay the whole amount for the new hand surgery and subsequent care without ever having a thought to turn it over to an insurance company? He’d thought it was because he lost the hand during an assignment, but government bean counters were never that generous.

  He wasn’t an expert on micro-expressions, face twitches, or eyes roaming down to someone’s feet when they were lying, but he didn’t get a sense of any of that from either of them, especially Barb.

  The writing on the metal plate didn’t lie. Although he couldn’t see the area where that cover had come from, he’d never seen a piece like that in any of the schematics. She was right about that.

  There was one more thing that needed to be addressed directly before he could decide to scream like a school girl or go along with this story that was sounding more and more plausible.

  “How long have you been working for this special group?”

  His wife’s smile was as radiant and pure as ever.

  “It’s not that important, but I know you want to know. I was recruited out of college by the CIA. My scores on some random aptitude tests, which I thought were leading to something else entirely, were good enough to get a personal interview with the head of personnel with them.”

  “The CIA?”

  “Yes. I trained as an inside analyst and then, a year before I met you, started to spend time in the field.” Barb kissed him full on the lips. “After I fell in love with you, I tendered my resignation. I wanted to be married to you more than being involved in the work. I knew that sometimes the assignments could follow you home, literally, so I didn’t want to endanger you. Or anyone close to you. The organization didn’t want me to quit entirely so I worked random assignments that could only have certain types of endings.”

  “Let me guess, those sudden trips to your mother’s or sister’s?”

  “Mostly. I did my job and came home, and I liked how that worked. I then met Braxton the year before Manny and he had their first encounter in the El Yunque rain forest.

  “I gradually became a part of this overseer group, and that’s how we got to this point.”

  “What do you mean certain types of endings?”

  “Assignments I can’t and won’t discuss, okay? But I wouldn’t waste any time thinking about them. Just know I did my job, like you do,” she said.

  Thinking about what she may or may not have been a part of could blow an already traumatized brain to pieces. He decided that conversation was for another time, if it ever happened. But one thing he knew for sure, because the evidence said so, this was no prank or pack of lies. His heart knew it better than his head—and that’s something to admit for a science guy.

  “So Josh is not only my boss, but has been watching over me closely, right?”

  “Yes,” said Braxton. “It was why he came to see you before Las Vegas and took you with him. You weren’t there to simply help that investigation, but to get out of Walter Reed until we received more intel.”

  Alex raised his right hand in a frustrated gesture.

  “Good God, I feel like I just fell into some screwed-up version of a Jason Bourne movie.”

  “Naw. Bourne has a cushy situation compared to dat ting we do,” said Braxton with a full belly laugh.

  For the first time since before surgery, Alex smiled. Then it vanished.

  “Okay. So what now? Say I buy into all of this, what happens next?”

  “You’ll stay here until you have recovered and we can wrap up some loose ends. Then you’ll go back to work like normal,” said Barb.

  “Normal?”

  “Yes. We’ve screwed up your surgery as a viable weapon this time so you won’t be in any future danger,” she said.

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I am. The only danger you’ll put yourself in is if you talk about this. You can’t even say anything to Manny.”

  “How am I going to do that? We go way back.”

  “You just do it.”

  His wife sat back down beside him, touching him again. “People could die and probably would, if you can’t keep this under your hat. Even to Manny.”

  “It won’t be that easy. He’s going to think something’s up after this case is over and he comes to visit and I’m not at Walter Reed. So will Sophie.”

  His apparent saviors looked at each other, then Braxton spoke. His voice much quieter.

  “They have a couple problems of their own right now. Josh will handle tings on his end accordingly.”

  It would have been impossible for Alex to hide the distress he felt at Braxton’s words.

  “What the hell does that mean? Are they in trouble?”

  “They’ll be fine. You just need to concentrate on your recovery,” said Braxton.

  “Yeah, like that will be a walk in the park,” said Alex, meeting the big man’s eyes.

  “We’ll help,” said Barb.

  Alex felt a prick on his arm and turned to his wife.

  “Really? You did that again?”

  Then he was out.

  CHAPTER-40

  Manny watched as the door closed behind Sophie. He took three steps after her then stopped, squeezing his phone so hard that he thought it might break into pieces, not that that would bother him. Valentino’s communication was just another reason to hate wireless signals that can and do reach anyone, wanted or not. At that moment, he couldn’t think of a time when that idea was less wanted.

  Did his partner need him more than they needed to unravel who Valentino was and stop him? Hell, a better question was: did Sophie want him around? This fight for Dean’s life was far more personal than most people from outside the struggle to comprehend it could realize, something he completely understood.

  Other than Jen, and that wasn’t an all-of-the-time, every-moment kind of thing, he wanted to see no one or be with anyone immediately after Louise had died. But everyone was different, and his friend might be the opposite.

  “Manny. We need to find this freak,” said Josh softly.

  “I know, damn it, I know. I’ll be back.”

  He hurried through both doors and turned the corner toward Dean’s room. Sophie stood there waiting for him. By the look on her face and her folded arms, she’d known he would come after.

  She took both of his hands. “I love that you are you, Manny. And I know what you’re thinking, but I need to be alone with him. We have things to talk about, our personal stuff.”

  “I get it. I just want you to know that catching Valentino isn’t as important to me as being here for you. Not now. A few hours ago, yes, but not now. I—”

  “You don’t need my blessing or some shit, Manny. I know you’ve had a rough few months . . . hell, a rough three year
s and we’ve all died a little with you, just like you’re dying with me right now.

  “We talk about this job ripping out what’s left of our souls, but you need to get it together and find this guy. You have to find out who Valentino is and why Tovant shot five cops and didn’t seem to mind dying for it. No one else is going to be as much help figuring that out. I sure as shit ain’t going to be any good.”

  “But—”

  She squeezed his hands.

  “Stop. Listen to me. You also know damn well that Valentino’s not done. More people are going to check out if you don’t get to work. I just can’t help right now.”

  She reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Do what you do and let me do what I have to, okay?”

  Then Sophie turned and disappeared into the ICU room that held her and Dean’s fate.

  He ran his hand through his hair, fixed on the door Sophie had entered, then turned back to the office where Belle and Josh waited.

  “Are you good?” asked Josh.

  “No, but Sophie set me straight. We need to get to work.”

  “We do,” said Belle. “I’m so confused right now.”

  “There’s some of that going around,” said Josh.

  Manny nodded, then pointed to the laptop.

  “Belle, you’re probably better at some of this computer stuff than Josh and I are. So if you don’t mind?”

  “We’ll see,” she said as she sat down in front of it.

  “Before we explore this link, we need to get our cyber people involved. If this can be traced, they’ll be able to do it,” said Manny.

  “Already taken care of, Manny,” said Josh. “I sent the link to Quantico as well as to the local office. The South Florida office apparently has one of the best hacker types on the planet on staff, and we want them involved.”

  “How did you know about the hacker?” asked Manny.

  “Hey, I can still surprise you once in a while. Besides, the people in HQ told me about her. I also have twelve FBI agents on the ready, along with over fifty Miami-Dade cops. All prepared to move in an instant.”