Two Days in Caracas

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Two Days in Caracas Page 35

by Luana Ehrlich


  As I looked past him to a group of feds off to his right, I spotted Frank Benson.

  Benson was FBI; not exactly a friend, but if he could get me inside the compound, our past relationship wouldn’t really matter.

  At least not to me.

  I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Frank, long time no see.”

  It took him a second or two to recognize me, and when he did, he didn’t exactly give me a bear hug. “Titus Ray. What are you doing down here?”

  Benson had light brown hair and a prominent square jaw. Clarice Duncan, a Level 2 female operative, had once told me women found Benson very appealing. She said it was the square jaw that did it.

  I had to take her word for that.

  I said, “I’m supposed to meet a guy down here. I was told he’s over at the Command Center.”

  “The Command Center is at 7th and Elm, but access to it has been blocked off from here. You’ll have to go over to the 9th Street gate and come in that way. The buildings in that sector have been evacuated already, so you just need to show them some ID at the gate.”

  “Any sign of the other shooter?”

  Benson shook his head and pointed at the entrance to the Navy Yard. “He’s still in there somewhere. We have SWAT teams clearing the buildings now, but finding him may take some time.”

  “Give me a description of the guy in case I run into him.”

  “He was last spotted near Building 197. That’s in the opposite direction of the Command Center.”

  “Humor me.”

  Benson frowned. “You haven’t changed, have you? You’re like a dog in heat when it comes to wanting information.”

  “Where’s all that cooperation between the agencies I keep hearing about, Frank? We’re supposed to be sharing intel these days.”

  He shrugged. “He’s of average height, brown hair, moustache, probably Hispanic. He’s dressed in jeans and a green shirt, and he has a dark-colored backpack with him.”

  “Weapons?”

  “We know he has an AR-15 assault rifle on him. But I doubt his backpack is full of books, so I think it’s safe to assume he has access to even more firepower.”

  “Any chance I could hitch a ride over to the 9th Street gate with one of your people? I’m parked at least a mile away from here, and a long walk doesn’t sound too good in this heat.”

  He motioned toward a woman standing beside a Crown Vic. She was wearing a dark blue shirt with F.B.I. printed in big yellow letters across the back of it.

  “Renee was just leaving; she could give you a lift.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When he called Renee over and told her I needed a ride over to the Command Center, he didn’t identify my employer.

  That didn’t surprise me.

  Benson was ex-CIA, and he’d sworn to keep the identity of Level 1 intelligence officers a secret. Because Benson had never been a person who ever broke the rules—even when he should have done so—I knew my secret life was safe with him.

  I thanked Benson and followed Renee over to her vehicle.

  As I walked away, Benson called out, “Hey, big guy, you may need to return the favor someday. And remember, I have a very long memory.”

  “Sure, Frank. You’ve got my number. Call me anytime.”

  He didn’t have my number, but he managed to contact me anyway.

  * * * *

  Renee didn’t have very much to say on the drive over to the 9th Street gate, and that was fine with me.

  I hated small talk.

  By the time I’d made up my mind she must be a loner like me, we were pulling up to the 9th Street gate. Moments later, she flashed her creds at the cops guarding the gate, and just like that, I was inside the compound.

  “We’ll have to park somewhere around here and walk over to the Command Center,” she said. “The SWAT teams aren’t allowing vehicles past O Street.”

  Although I’d told Benson otherwise, I assured Renee a long walk wouldn’t bother me.

  The moment I got out of the vehicle, a flash of something in my peripheral vision caught my attention.

  It had been off to my right, near Building 175.

  I gestured over to a nearby building. “I need to take a little detour, Renee. All that coffee has finally caught up with me. I’ll see you over at the Command Center.”

  “Sure. See you there.”

  I watched as Renee walked down the block toward 7th Street. A few minutes later, I saw her take a right turn onto Elm and disappear from sight.

  Although I spotted a cadre of uniformed police officers entering a three-story structure at the opposite end of the block, the street in front of me appeared to be deserted. I was guessing the buildings off to my right had already been cleared.

  That was the direction I was headed—off to my right, where something had flashed in my peripheral vision.

  Something like the barrel of an AR-15 assault rifle.

  End of Chapter 1

  Three Weeks in Washington is available on Amazon. You can read more about it on the author’s website: LuanaEhrlich.com and on Titus Ray Thrillers.

 

 

 


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