Trust Fall

by Alex Ander

  He cleared his throat. “Well, first of all...in the spirit of full disclosure...my name isn’t really Simon Patton.”

  Devlin arched her eyebrows.

  “I’m Special Agent Noah Randall.”

  She shot out a puff of air. “I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. You’ve been lying to me from the beginning.”

  “Not,” Randall lifted a finger, “lying...necessary subterfuge. Working undercover requires a scant amount of truth, and much subterfuge.”

  Devlin rolled her eyes. “Whatever...what was the plan?”

  “I assumed the role of Simon Patton who—as I’m sure you know—embezzled money from the company he worked for and fled the country. I was to get myself arrested in Mexico and claim I had high-level information on illegal weapons coming out of the States. I was to tell what I knew in exchange for a lesser sentence.”

  She turned her head and partially closed an eye at him. “How was that going to find the traitor?”

  “The United States Marshals Service handles all prisoner exchanges with for—”

  “Foreign countries...I know. I’m a deputy marshal. Get to the part that explains all this.”

  Randall chuckled. “Right. Once I—Simon Patton that is—started shooting off my mouth about corruption in the Marshals Service, whoever was leading the illegal gun smuggling operation would have to do something. He—or she—couldn’t take the chance of being exposed.”

  Devlin looked away, nodding. “They would be forced to silence you.”

  “That’s right. And, when they tried...to silence me...our people would capture the perpetrator, and we’d have our first lead on uncovering the man—or woman—in charge of the whole thing.”

  Devlin faced him, gritting her teeth. “My partner and I...and two other deputy marshals...were unwitting pawns in this ruse of yours.”

  Randall lowered his gaze. “I realize that.”

  “My partner and those two other agents are dead right now.”

  “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. My bosses honestly didn’t think a move would be made on me until after I was stateside.”

  “So that’s it? You throw out a ‘sorry for your loss’ and,” she snapped fingers, “all is better...all is forgiven? We just move on like nothing happened?”

  “I’m not trying to trivialize the situation. What happened to those good people was a tragedy. I get that. I really do. But you know as well as I do...that they died for their country. They died upholding the law.”

  “They died,” Devlin fast walked around the table and confronted Randall, her voice rising two notches in volume, “picking up a man who, from what you’re telling me, wasn’t even a criminal. Tell me how that...constitutes upholding the law?”

  “Okay,” he lifted a hand, “I can see where you might have a problem with that...bad choice of words. But you need to see the bigger picture here, Marsh—” he shook his head, “Deputy Marshal Devlin. When we end up taking down this corrupt official, your partner and those other agents will have given their lives for a greater cause, for justice.”

  Devlin ambled to the window behind him. She huffed. “Justice.” Her mind envisioned Hawkins and her late husband. Good men are dead while the criminals go free. “What does that even look like these days?” Seeing a branch move, she touched her sidearm.

  “You have to believe me. I’m telling you the truth.”

  She drew the Colt. “Shut up.”

  “Oh,” his voice grew louder, “so now you’re done listening to me?”

  “No. I mean,” she darted to the other windows and peeked outside, “keep quiet. I saw movement in the woods.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 13

  Green Light

  6:01 p.m. (local time)

  alexandria, virginia

  Alone in her office, door closed, blinds shut, lights dimmed, Marshal Thorn opened a laptop. The screen’s glow lit up her face. Sitting at her desk, she put elbows on the furniture’s laminated surface, clutched her balled fist, and rested her chin on the back of the top hand.

  The computer screen was divided in half, vertically. Each partition showed the video feed from a helmet-mounted camera. In both halves, the sun was shining in the background while the foreground was dark. The outside edges displayed nature: leaves, branches, twigs, dirt.

  Thorn concentrated on the left half of the split monitor which had a broken down building in the center; the bottommost portion had ‘Tolliver’ in white letters. She donned a headset, positioned the attached microphone in front of her mouth, and tapped the ‘space’ bar. “This is Thorn...report.”

  In her ear, a male voice: “This is Agent Tolliver. Teams are in position and ready to breach on your command, ma’am.”

  “What’s the situation?”

  “No signs of activity—outside or inside the structure. There’s only one way in and one way out. Nobody is getting by my men.”

  “Good.”

  “Ma’am, if I may...are you sure about this course of action?”

  “You have your orders, Agent Tolliver. I expect you to carry them out.”

  “Copy that, ma’am.”

  Thorn squeezed the knuckles of her bottom hand. “I’m giving you the green light to proceed. I repeat...you have a green light.”

  “Copy that. Alpha team, on me. Bravo, cover the dark side. Everyone, stay low and double-time it. Go, go, go.”

  Thorn watched the image bounce around, as the rundown building became bigger, closer. She saw a gloved hand enter and leave the picture several times, chopping the air. A moment later, a second agent came into view. Taking a position near the door, he looked back at the camera.

  The camera moved down and up, as the wearer nodded one time.

  The agent pivoted and kicked in the door.

  A third operative rushed into the dwelling, followed by the second man.

  Thorn watched the flurry of activity unfold, as Tolliver charged forward, the forend of his Colt 9mm SMG rifle and his left forearm and hand visible.

  Tolliver: “Report.”

  “No hostiles. Three subjects down...two males, one female.”

  “Status?”

  Her heart pounding in her chest, Thorn stuck out her chin at the screen, waiting to hear the status report.

  “All dead, sir. No signs of life. Structure is secure.”

  Tolliver: “Copy that.”

  Thorn saw the bodies of the two downed men come into view. A beam of light on each face revealed their identities. She recognized neither man.

  The camera approached a slender female figure, face down on the floor. The woman’s body zoomed in, as Tolliver’s forward knee and left hand entered the picture. He rolled the corpse onto its backside.

  Thorn held her breath, as three fingers pinched a photograph of Jessica Devlin near the lower portion of the split screen. The marshal squinted at the dead female on the floor, but the S.O.G. team leader’s hand obscured the face.

  Tolliver: “Negative ID on Deputy Marshal Devlin, ma’am. I repeat...Devlin is not among the dead—over.”

  Thorn exhaled. “Make a sweep of the area, Agent Tolliver, and get your men out of there. I don’t want the Mexican Government finding out we’re running unsanctioned ops on their soil.”

  “Copy that—over and out.”

  *******

  51 minutes earlier...

  4:10 p.m. (Local time)

  san fernando, mexico

  “As far as I can tell,” Devlin bobbed her head and peeked out the window, “they’re coming in from three sides.”

  “Your people?”

  “I can’t tell.” A beat. “But I don’t think so.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “My people have no desire to eat a bullet by mistake. They would’ve somehow tried to establish communications before advancing on this position.”

  Randall stood and extended his hands toward her. The cuffs and chains rattled. “Cut me loose and
give me the Glock.”

  Her focus went from the shackles, to him, to the other windows, her mind imagining the multiple adversaries outside. She came back to him.

  “You’re smart, Devlin. You know it’s the right play.”

  Her forehead wrinkling, she massaged the back of her neck. “How do I know you won’t turn the gun on me...once this is over?”

  “You don’t.”

  “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “Think of this as your Trust Fall.”

  Her eyebrows came together.

  “You know...that exercise where one person closes his eyes and falls backward...into someone else’s waiting arms? I hear it’s supposed to help with team-building.”

  Devlin holstered her 1911 and grunted, “It’s a stupid game,” before drawing the Glock from her waistband and setting the forty-caliber firearm on the table. She shoved fingers into the front pocket of her jeans. “So help me, God. If you betray me, I promise you. I’ll—”

  Randall placed an object beside the Glock.

  Spotting the object—Agent Mills’ folding knife—Devlin stopped fumbling. She looked up from the table, her penetrating gaze boring a hole through his eyes and all the way to the back of his head. “You’ve had that this whole time?” She patted her butt cheeks.

  He laid two, shiny skeleton keys next to the knife.

  She terminated her search. “And you stole my handcuff keys?” She scooped up the masters.

  “I didn’t steal anything.” Holding out his hands, “Back at the SUV—after you undid my ankles—you,” Randall nodded at the keys, “didn’t exactly stuff those all the way into your jeans. One was peeking out of your pocket.”

  She maneuvered the key into its slot and regarded him. “Only peeking out?”

  He lifted a shoulder and added a partial grin. “I didn’t want to risk you losing them.” He waited a beat. “You’re welcome by the way.”

  After giving him another look and shaking her head at his sheepish grin, “So,” Devlin undid the manacles, “at any time since then, you could’ve freed yourself and—”

  “Shoved a blade between your ribs?” He rubbed his wrists and produced a long, black rectangle from his pants pocket. “If I haven’t told you yet...we’re on the same side.”

  She scowled at the newest item in his possession, a full magazine for the Glock.

  He swapped out the 22’s partial magazine for the full one and spied her.

  Her attention drifting to him, she lifted an eyebrow.

  “Okay this,” he tapped the magazine’s base plate, “I did in fact steal. When you forced me to the floor of the Suburban, Mills’ gun and Chambers’ mag were right there in front of me. I had to take them.”

  Devlin snatched her phone off the table, drew her 45 ACP, and put her back against the darkened southeast corner. The dwelling’s door was at her ten o’clock.

  “However, if you recall correctly...”

  She jabbed a finger his way. “Get over there.”

  “...I ended up using this gun to save you.”

  “You watch my back. I’ll watch yours.”

  He assumed a position similar to hers, but partly hidden behind a bunk bed in the northwest corner. “How many did you see out there?”

  “At least three.” Devlin shot several glances back and forth—from her ten o’clock to her two o’clock.

  “Psst.”

  She eyed Randall.

  He touched a forefinger to his lips and pointed at the door.

  Noticing movement in her peripheral vision—on the floor—she nodded at him and flicked her eyes toward her left boot. The hair rose up on the back of her neck, as a tingling sensation zipped down her spine. She screwed up her face.

  The brown tarantula crawled closer to Devlin’s footwear, stopping periodically.

  Fixated on the hairy arachnid, she stood taller and put heels to the wall. Man, I hate spiders. She raised a foot and waited for the creature to get within stomping distance. Casting glances at the western and northern windows, she saw shadows appear on the floor, as a large mass outside disrupted the light pattern inside the shack.

  Randall caught her eye, held up two fingers, and pointed.

  She nodded, glanced down, and did a double take; the spider was gone. Her skin crawled, as she lifted the Colt toward the door that was inching its way inward. I really hate spiders.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 14

  Betrayal

  The door stopped perpendicular to Devlin’s position. A floorboard creaked, but no one came into view. Silent seconds passed. Aiming her firearm a foot ahead of the door’s leading edge, she gripped the 1911 tighter. What’s he doing? Her eyes widened. He’s letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. She charged and drove her left shoulder into the panel, sending the uninvited houseguest into the kitchen nook area.

  The hanging pots and pans rattled, as the camouflage-clad figure crashed into the wall, did a one-eighty, and tumbled to the floor, arms flailing.

  The door bounced back and hit Devlin before half closing.

  She got her first look at the intruder, a slim woman with long hair secured in a ponytail. Raising her gun to cover the woman, Devlin noticed a large shadow approaching from the left. Not seeing, but sensing the black muzzle coming up to meet her, she spun right and dove to the floor.

  ***

  Randall exited his hiding place, gun up. He got off a few quick shots before ducking.

  The inside of the cabin was shredded by a volley of sustained gunfire. Rifle rounds pinged off the potbelly stove, knocked cookware from the wall, and sent wood shards and mattress fibers, flying upward.

  The noise stopped.

  Hearing a familiar click, Randall lifted his head and saw the canister roll into the structure. He leaped to his feet, “Grenade!” and upended the table.

  The stun grenade went off, as the large eating surface came down on top of the explosive device. A muted bang and a flash of light filled the space.

  Randall saw spots. His ears were ringing. Having managed to stave off the full effects of the flashbang, he squinted at the doorway and lined up his next shot. Blinking repeatedly, he emptied his gun at the two figures rushing into the dwelling. One silhouette dropped a moment before the Glock’s slide locked open. Patting himself, feeling for the spare ammunition, he sidestepped right.

  Incoming rounds tore up the area at his seven o’clock.

  His shoulder hitting the cabin wall, Randall rammed a fresh magazine home, thumbed the slide forward, and dropped to one knee.

  Bullets punctured the wall above his head.

  Feeling tiny particles pricking the back of his neck, he brought his weapon to bear on the target and worked the trigger.

  Holes opened up on the intruder’s shirt, as the man clutched his upper chest. He stumbled sideways and collapsed.

  Randall sprang to his feet and fired twice—one round into each attacker’s head—before straining to see through the haze of smoke and dust. He swung the Glock back and forth a few degrees. Which one are you, Devlin?

  ***

  Taking a punch to the left cheek, Devlin whirled right and staggered into a wall.

  The ponytailed woman grabbed a fistful of Devlin’s hair from behind and pulled.

  Devlin pushed off from the wall and threw a left elbow, catching the side of Pony’s face.

  Shaking off the blow, Pony clutched Devlin’s neck and shoved.

  Devlin’s backside crashed into the wall, her head thumping off the solid surface a beat later. Clenching Pony’s chin, she drove the woman’s head backward, kneed her in the groin, and sent a forearm into Pony’s jaw, gaining a modicum of separation. She planted a tactical boot in her adversary’s midsection and thrust out her leg.

  Pony backpedaled before slamming into a bunk bed. She grunted, shook the cobwebs from her head, and moved forward.

  Devlin advanced.

  Pony drew a 12-inch survival knife, assumed a
reverse grip, and swung the blade back and forth.

  Pulling up short and contorting her body, the deputy marshal dodged the first two strikes, closed the distance, and clenched her attacker’s knife hand with both of hers.

  The women pushed and pulled to gain control of the weapon.

  Devlin kneed Pony in the stomach.

  The woman doubled over.

  Devlin yanked on the knife.

  Pony righted herself and head butted Devlin between the eyes.

  Her nose absorbing part of the blow, Devlin winced and lost her grip.

  Pony shoved Devlin and attacked, delivering wide, one-armed, roundhouse sweeps with her weapon hand.

  Forearms up, Devlin retraced her steps. Each pace kept her out of the blade’s arc, but the south wall behind her was fast approaching.

  Pony maintained her rhythmic assault: lunge and strike, lunge and strike.

  Devlin backtracked, timing the other woman’s motions. Her mind sensing the wall closing in on her, she took another rearward step and coiled her upper body.

  Pony lunged and delivered a forward swipe.

  Devlin leaned away.

  The blade zipped by her nose.

  She thrust her boot into Pony’s forward knee.

  The woman groaned and cradled her injury.

  Devlin clutched Pony’s knife hand, dropped to her right hip, and scissor-kicked her legs, taking out her opponent at the knees.

  The camo-clad woman fell to the floor, face-first.

  Straddling Pony’s torso, the deputy marshal wrapped her aggressor’s ponytail around her hand. With her heart thumping in her chest, her mind envisioning the knife that could have taken her from her daughter, her upper body rocking back and forth, Devlin repeatedly jerked on Pony’s head and smashed the woman’s face into the rough, wooden floorboards until a hand landed on her shoulder.

  Spinning clockwise and rolling to her left, Devlin gripped the offending forearm, dragged the limb’s owner to the floor, rose up, and brought back a fist.

  “Devlin, it’s me.” On his back, Randall stiff armed her. “Take it easy. It’s over. They’re down.”