Friction

by Dwayne Gill

  Hart now questioned his own way of thinking; he’d been determined to bring legality to what they were doing, but what if it was a waste of time? Worse, what if it put himself and others in even more danger? A part of him had resented being in league with a group of criminals, although he respected them and thought they were necessary. However, after what he’d seen lately, he was starting to think Cane’s way was the only solution. Maybe they’d never thwart the terrorist threat by legitimate means, no matter how hard they tried.

  A black sedan pulled into the clinic parking lot and came to a stop. Moments later, two ordinary-looking men climbed out and walked inside. Hart was on high alert now, and a few minutes later, his phone vibrated. It was a message from Brewer confirming the couriers were inside.

  Hart radioed the team and walked toward the clinic. Other agents emerged from various places, including Lindsey, who’d been sitting in a car across the street. She was short and athletic, but age and stress had taken their toll on her, along with her lifelong smoking habit. She had a full head of graying hair that made her look older than her forty-six years, but the woman held herself proudly. She smiled and fell into step with Hart as the two approached the doctor’s office.

  “How you holding up?” asked Lindsey.

  “Ask me when this is over,” said Hart.

  There was no other way to approach the situation besides brute force. Hart hoped there wouldn’t be a lot of patients inside, but it was unlikely given the number of cars in the lot. The operation seemed less important now than yesterday, considering Plumber seemed to be on board already, but Hart remembered the promise he made to the doctor. There was also the legality of the situation. Once the investigation became official, it would offer Brewer and his family witness protection, and catching two marked men red-handed would surely have its benefits. It could lead to a countrywide investigation that might snowball into something much bigger, possibly revealing dozens, even hundreds of other doctors and clinics doing the same thing.

  There were eight agents, including Hart and Lindsey, and they stood at the front door, all anxious about what was coming. Lindsey said she’d prepared her crew for the abilities of the marked men, but Hart doubted any of them, including Lindsey, knew just how dangerous they could be. Hart was taking lead, for he didn’t want to have anyone’s death on his conscience.

  “Ready?” asked Hart. He looked around and saw nods. Everyone had their weapons drawn. “Two at the front entrance while the rest of us enter through the back.”

  Lindsey picked two able-looking agents to guard the front while the rest walked around the building. The back door was closed, but hopefully Brewer had left it unlocked.

  “After we enter, we’ll take a left, and his office will be the first door on the left,” said Hart, repeating the instructions from Brewer. “If either of the two men go for a weapon, don’t hesitate. Shoot to kill.”

  The dream scenario would be to arrest the marked men, but Hart would not take any chances or risk anyone’s life. These agents weren’t aware of the danger they were facing, and if left to their own judgment, they might underestimate the men.

  Hart twisted the old doorknob. Just as he’d hoped, it was unlocked. He stepped inside quickly to allow the other five entry into the office, which opened into a storage room. Apparently, Brewer still kept hard copies of clients’ information in the many file cabinets lined along the walls, a mostly out-of-date practice.

  Hart reached the doorway exiting into a hallway and turned left. He could already see Brewer’s office door, which was closed, and he waved the others around. Three agents, including Lindsey, stood to the right of the door while Hart and the two others took the left side. A nurse turned the corner ahead of them and stopped short when she saw the agents, but Lindsey caught her before she could speak, flashing a badge. With wide eyes, the nurse turned and walked away, and Hart breathed a sigh of relief.

  Because he feared he’d fail kicking the door in, Hart opted to enter naturally. With one hand on the knob and the other holding his pistol, he twisted and pushed the door inward, stepping inside as he did so.

  The two marked men sat behind Brewer’s desk and glanced over their shoulder to inspect the visitors. Brewer’s eyes were wide, and he looked worried, but he ducked behind his desk as Hart, Lindsey, and two other agents filed in.

  It surprised Hart to see the marked men so calm and cooperative as both raised their hands, wearing perplexed looks. Unmoved, the others aimed as Hart commanded them to put their hands behind their heads. The two men complied but protested. One asked, “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “Agent Hart, FBI. We’re taking you both into custody for distribution of an illegal substance.”

  The two men lowered their hands, and Hart shouted, “Hands back up and behind your heads. I won’t ask again.”

  Again, they cooperated, but not peacefully. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here,” said the other man.

  Hart looked around the room and noticed his first problem arising. There was no container present with which to deliver syringes, but that didn’t mean the evidence wasn’t there. By now Brewer would have had time to take such a carrier, stash the vials in the refrigerator, and discard it. However, at first glance it appeared they might have the wrong suspects, and the men’s performance wasn’t helping.

  “Let me see your right forearms,” said Hart. The two were dressed business casual, wearing long-sleeved buttoned-up shirts.

  “Excuse me?” asked the first man. He looked offended, like Hart was asking him to strip naked.

  “Let’s see them,” said Hart.

  “Hart,” muttered Lindsey. Judging by her tone, she wasn’t convinced they should proceed, but Hart wasn’t about to relent.

  “Cuff them,” Hart said to any agent who would listen. Lindsey looked at him questioningly while the agents fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. Hart shot a pleading glance at Lindsey and she rolled her eyes.

  “Do it,” she said.

  Whatever apprehension the other agents had seemed to evaporate at her command, and two of them stepped behind the two marked men, ready to fulfill the order. They had to holster their pistols to operate the cuffs, and as they attempted to grab the men’s arms, all hell broke loose.

  The first marked man grabbed his agent in a flash, twisting the agent’s arm around behind his back as he rose out of the chair. The second marked man performed almost the same move, except instead of restraining the clasped agent, he snapped his neck in one fluid motion.

  Hart had his gun pointed but couldn’t fire, for as soon as the dead agent fell, the marked man lunged forward at Lindsey, who was closest to him. The first marked man pushed his captive agent forward, trying to crowd Hart, so he knew he had to act quickly. In that moment, he tried to think as Cane would in the situation, for he knew if the remaining agents were to survive, he’d have to improvise and use tactics that weren’t exactly customary to law enforcement.

  Before he could reason otherwise, Hart thrust his pistol over the restrained agent’s shoulder and fired twice. The agent’s eyes widened, and Hart knew the man’s ears must be ringing, but Hart’s move had its intended effect. Either one or both rounds had hit the marked man in the head, causing him and the agent to crumple to the floor.

  The remaining marked man had Lindsey against the wall, but the other agents had swarmed him, prying him loose and trying to subdue him. Hart jumped into the fray, grabbing the marked man around his neck and pulling him backward. The two fell back onto one of the chairs as Hart refused to let go, while Lindsey and the remaining agents grabbed the marked man and held him. An agent locked a cuff onto the left wrist of the struggling man, and soon the other, making him far less of a threat.

  Sensing defeat, the marked man ceased to struggle, but Hart refused to relinquish his grip. “Find something to tie his legs with,” he said.

  The clinic had no shortage of items to be used, and Lindsey eventually settled on some nylon rope to restrain his leg
s. Hart let go of the marked man, and two agents escorted him into the hallway while the others tended to the deceased.

  Brewer had still not dared to make an appearance, but Hart wasn’t concerned with him at the moment. He looked down at the fallen agent, infuriated. “This should not have happened,” he said.

  Lindsey was clearly upset; she’d known all the men there personally. “It happened so fast.”

  “These men aren’t to be taken lightly,” said Hart.

  After they cleared the room, Hart and Lindsey called to the doctor, who eased up off the floor and onto his chair. The man was terrified but knew he was lucky to be alive.

  “Did they bring the syringes?” asked Hart.

  The doctor nodded blankly, still traumatized by the violence. “In the fridge,” he said, pointing. “They delivered three.”

  Hart was done. He’d fulfilled his part of the deal, and now it was up to Lindsey and Plumber to make the case stick. He was tired, physically and emotionally, and he wanted to leave. Barkley needed him.

  “We’ve got it from here, Lance,” said Lindsey.

  Hart gave her a weak smile and nod. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Hart exited the building and walked back to his car. Though the mission was a success, it somehow didn’t feel like it. Again, he was at the mercy of others now to move forward, while Bowman, Swelling, Tina, and Shauna were in no less danger. He called Lynks to report the success and was glad he did. The techie had news of his own.

  “I found Vernon Blake,” said Lynks. “He’s with the CIA, or at least used to be. I’ve got an address and phone number for him.”

  Hart jotted down the information with optimism. At least he had another lead.

  “What happens now?” asked Lynks.

  “It’s time to find Bowman,” said Hart. “And if Plumber can’t, I will.”

  The address Lynks gave him showed Blake was only a few hours away, so Hart headed in that direction. Ten minutes later Cane called, which was a surprise; his plane wasn’t supposed to land in Eglin for another couple of hours. “How’d it go?” asked Cane.

  “We busted Brewer and the couriers,” said Hart. “We killed one marked guy and arrested the other. An agent died during the raid.”

  “What about everyone else?” asked Cane.

  “Plumber is with Barkley in Miami, helping her find Tina, Shauna, and Swelling. I’m about to talk to a guy named Vernon Blake. Ever heard of him?”

  “No,” said Cane.

  “This guy may know where to find Bowman and Webb,” said Hart.

  “You okay, Hart?” asked Cane.

  “I just don’t want to let you down,” said Hart. “I feel so limited by this badge.”

  “You’re doing fine,” said Cane. “You’ve done all you can.”

  That’s the problem, thought Hart. It may not be enough.

  “Once I land and hop on this next plane, I’ll be across the country for a while,” said Cane.

  We need you here, badly, thought Hart, but he couldn’t say it. There was nothing Cane could do about the trip he had to make, and the last thing they needed was more missing or abducted loved ones. “You go,” said Hart. “We got it from here.”

  Intervention

  October 2, 2028

  6:00 p.m. (GMT + 4)

  Baku, Azerbaijan

  The once abandoned building was buzzing with activity as American soldiers were trying to make sense of what had happened. William and Dirk had been explaining the situation to the highest-ranking officer present, Lieutenant Herbert Graves, finding it tricky to do so without mentioning Colonel Mathis. The officer hadn’t been pleased with the day’s events and had left twice and returned, seeking guidance on what to do.

  There had been no way to deny the involvement of the U.S. military, for many of the men stationed in Baku had been privy to what was happening and had assisted. Graves was having a hard time determining who’d green-lighted the mission that caused a major battle to ensue right under his watch. The lieutenant was even more troubled about the Russian casualties, fearing the diplomatic consequences, and having a Russian officer as a captive hadn’t helped much.

  Malakhov had been escorted farther inland many hours ago, and William wasn’t informed of the man’s fate. Wayne had also been brought inland to the local hospital for his gunshot wounds, but they weren’t life-threatening. The rest of their crew remained and had mostly been sitting, waiting, and answering questions as vaguely as possible. They’d only be able to stall so long before Graves would finally take them into custody, unless they offered a better reason for why they were there.

  William decided there was no rush, for the plane lined up for them to fly back on had been damaged, purposefully, by the Russians; Malakhov had bragged about it before the Baku soldiers took him away. William hoped the pilots were scrambling to find another suitable way home for them, but it was out of his hands.

  Outside, American and Baku soldiers had been cleaning up the Russian casualties on the hill, as well as inland and up the coast. Military vehicles could be seen everywhere in the distance, along with other emergency vehicles tending to the wounded and clearing debris. The day’s events were tragic, and William felt a burden of responsibility for the men who’d lost their lives defending the port. It had been an unavoidable conflict, but he’d been the focal point.

  Daniel had been restless, and William understood his frustration. The big guy had never seen the underbelly of the military and how much red tape there was. What Daniel didn’t understand was that Graves would ultimately be the one responsible for what happened here, and if he wasn’t able to find answers, he would cover his own behind by locking them up.

  “We’re all Americans here,” said Daniel.

  “They’re just doing their jobs,” said William.

  “We were doing ours,” said Daniel.

  William couldn’t explain the situation any better to him than he already had, so he let him stew.

  “Great events have incalculable results,” said Daniel.

  William raised an eyebrow. “The Hunchback of Notre Dame?

  Daniel smiled and slapped his knees. “Finally! Someone who appreciates a classic!”

  “Classic, my ass,” said William. “That guy cooks people.”

  Daniel huffed. “That was my first impression of it too.”

  William saw Graves approaching in the distance with his military escorts, the soldiers still on edge and playing it safe.

  “There he is,” said Daniel. “Maybe we can finally get out of here.”

  Besides being eager to leave the foreign country, William knew Daniel was more bothered by not being able to talk to his friends back home. He knew they’d be worried about him, and until they settled their situation, there was nothing he could do about it.

  Lieutenant Graves wasn’t exactly happy as he stepped into the building, but he seemed more at ease than earlier. His guards fanned out around him as he came to a stop in front of William and Daniel, while Dirk and Orlando came to join them. They all saluted immediately, except Daniel, who was a beat behind.

  “There’s a plane waiting for you in town,” said Graves. “Your friend Wayne is waiting for you.”

  William couldn’t believe it was that easy. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me,” said Graves. “Thank Colonel Mathis. Why didn’t you tell me he was behind this?”

  William was shocked Mathis had outed himself; there were sure to be consequences for him after this. “We were told not to tell a soul, sir.”

  “Well, you made me look like a fool, holding you here like criminals,” said Graves. “I know some of my men helped too. It sure would’ve been nice to know what was happening in my backyard.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said William. “We never expected the action to spill over into Baku.”

  Graves looked around and pointed. “Well, it did,” he said. “It was one hell of a spill.”

  Daniel laughed, and everyone looked at him like he w
as nuts. William hit him with an elbow. “Sir, he’s not military. Excuse his behavior.”

  Graves didn’t acknowledge the statement. “It could have been worse, I guess, although who knows what the Russians across the Caspian will do now. Three American soldiers gave their lives up the coast for you to be alive. But I’m glad you made it, Sergeant.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said William.

  “Colonel Mathis will be waiting for you at Eglin,” said Graves. “You’d better get a move on.”

  “What will happen to Malakhov, sir?” asked William.

  “Damned if I know,” said Graves. “The Baku locals have him.”

  They caught a ride to their plane, where Wayne was waiting. He looked decent for a man recently shot twice, though he had a pronounced limp.

  “I’m as good as gold,” said Wayne, smiling. “I’ll bet none of you losers got to eat Jello, like I did.”

  William’s stomach was growling, and he heard Daniel groan in frustration. “We’ll eat on the plane,” said William.

  William boarded first and took the back seat while he tried to call April again, to no avail. He knew there was a better chance of her randomly calling him than him reaching her, although he wasn’t sure if her phone would even register a missed call from the number. Everyone else boarded except Daniel, who stepped inside five minutes later, frowning. William waved, beckoning him to join him at the back of the plane. The big guy lumbered toward him and sat directly across the aisle.

  “Everything okay at home?” asked William. It felt strange asking about people he’d never met.

  “Barkley, a friend, got hurt trying to save a kid named Tina from being abducted. She killed two marked men, though.” William was clueless, but he nodded along. “I’ll tell you more on the way,” said Daniel. “Bowman is still missing, too.”

  “I’m sorry, big guy,” said Orlando, coming to the back to offer his condolences. William figured the soldier knew whom Daniel was referring to.