EDGE OF HONOR: On The Edge Duet: Book One

by Chance, Jacob

  As I fade in and out of consciousness, broken, battered, and bleeding, the remaining FBI vehicles explode one after the other, leveling most of the block and killing everyone on it.

  Chapter Two

  Georgia

  Karyn Smith is dead.

  The reports coming in are scattered and the details keep updating, but one fact remains unchanged: Karyn Smith is dead.

  I'm watching a live stream from the scene as I speed down the Mass. Turnpike, heading for the city. I can't believe what I'm seeing. Pieces of shrapnel and debris are littered across everything, everywhere.

  “Jesus Christ. It looks like a goddamn war zone.” I hear a member of the Critical Response Team mutter as he pans across what looks like tattered clothing on the ground.

  Another notification in what seems like a never-ending stream of statewide Law Enforcement Officer alert banners comes across my cell. I read it as I weave through the traffic along the Pike.

  Suspect in FBI custody @ Mass Gen.

  Good. I can't wait to meet this fucker and make sure they pay for what they’ve done.

  I spend the next thirty minutes with memories of Karyn flashing through my mind. All she’s taught me, all she’s done for me. I just can’t believe she’s gone.

  As I get closer, I begin to recognize the neighborhood and an uncomfortable knot forms in the center of my stomach. I pick up my cell and read the last alert banner again as I park outside the police barriers that are set up two blocks away from the scene.

  Suspect in FBI custody @ Mass Gen.

  My God, it can't be him.

  Stepping out into the flashing lights and smoke-filled chaos of the scene, I immediately get to the task at hand, finding our people.

  * * *

  Three hours later, I watch in silence as the last of the remains are removed from the scene. In all, eleven more people are dead; all agents, no civilians. Every one of the deceased agents is from my office; men I have laughed and argued with, men who have had my back and who I trusted above all others, men I will never see again.

  “Agent Cohn. Agent Cohn,” a young state trooper shouts as he approaches, a weary expression on his face. He looks like he's seen far too much this day.

  “Right here.” I throw an arm up.

  “Are you Agent Cohn?”

  “Yes, I am.” I'm sure I sound as bad as he looks right now. He extends his hand, offering me a cell phone. I take it and watch him turn to leave without another word. Before I can call out to him for an explanation, it vibrates in my hand.

  “Georgia, I'll be back in a few hours.” Agent Nash Garrison is on the other end of the line.

  “It's bad, Nash, really bad.” There's a brief pause, and I'm sure we're both thinking of Karyn.

  “I'm meeting with Director Harris as soon as we hang up and then I'm on my way,” Nash breaks the silence.

  “I'll have the team waiting and ready,” I answer on autopilot, still stunned by the sights and sounds before me, despite hours on scene.

  “Was it really… him?” Nash's voice is nearly a whisper.

  “That's the word, but I'll know more by the time you land.”

  “Georgia, I'm only going to say this once and you need to hear me. Do not compromise yourself. I need you on this.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “Agent Cohn, are you hearing me?”

  “I am.”

  “Tell me you understand,” he insists.

  “I do.”

  Twenty minutes later, I arrive at Mass General Hospital to find a large and angry law enforcement presence outside the hospital.

  Boston is a city filled with people who don't like to be fucked with, ever. If you start randomly gunning people down on the Common and then set off car bombs that destroy entire city blocks and kill a dozen FBI agents, the reaction is going to be strong. Every uniformed officer I pass looks more than ready to exact some justice of their own.

  Inside the emergency room isn't much different. The police easily outnumber the patients, and there's barely room to move.

  A group of men who look like bikers are arguing loudly amongst each other and drawing the attention of nearly every person carrying a badge within earshot. They don’t appear to be all that serious and are probably just fucking with the local cops.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, I slip through without catching the attention of the commander of the Critical Response Team, who is also the man in charge on scene. I’m not looking to report in or listen to what someone else thinks right now. I want to hear from the suspect myself. I want to know why. I need to know why. I don’t want any interruptions and I don’t want to wait.

  I locate the service elevator and take it eight floors up to where he’s being held in isolation. I spend the entire ride thinking what an epically bad idea this is, but I can’t help myself. I need definitive answers, and I need to see him to get them.

  The floor is deserted, and it’s taking me too long to find where he’s being held. Hearing voices, I move toward them. The closer I get, the more an uneasy feeling niggles my instincts. It’s too empty up here.

  I clearly hear the soft, droning beep of a heart monitor as I approach the room, but there’s still no sign of a single nurse on duty. Which seems odd.

  I quietly ease up outside the open door and listen. Two men are inside the room, and one of them is talking on a cell phone.

  “Yes, sir, consider it done.” He ends the call and I can hear him walk across the room toward me. I panic as he approaches. “Looks like he stays here.”

  The door closes until there’s only a small crack left open, inches away from my face. His shoes echo as he walks away, and I slowly slide myself into position, peering through the slit. It takes a few seconds to adjust my view, but then I see him. Belfast is unconscious and there are two men standing on either side of the bed. They look like they may be Bureau, but they're not local.

  “Shit. I was looking forward to spending some quality time with this prick.” They sound like Bureau too. “Sorry, buddy, but this guy is about to die from his injuries.”

  Scratch that. Definitely not Bureau.

  One laughs as he tosses a small black bag over the bed to the other. “It’s in there.”

  The second man chuckles as he opens the bag and removes what appear to be two fully loaded syringes. He looks them over, dropping one on the bed, and removing the cap on the other. “Find me a vein.”

  I’ve seen enough. I draw my weapon and push through the door.

  “FBI, don’t move.” Nobody moves.

  “Hands up.”

  Still, nobody moves.

  “I said, hands up. And you on the right, drop the needle.”

  They remain frozen in place.

  “Turn around, both of you.”

  They slowly pivot to face me.

  “You’re making a big mistake.” The one who was on the phone smiles as he speaks. “We’re all on the same side here,” he reassures me. “Lower your weapon and let us show you some ID, Agent Cohn.”

  He knows me.

  The moment he speaks my name, Belfast’s eyes open wide and all hell breaks loose. Before either one can react, he grabs the man holding the syringe, pulls him straight down and headbutts him twice, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious.

  The second pulls a gun as his partner sinks to the floor, but spins my way instead of aiming at Belfast. Belfast kicks his arm at the last second before he fires, lodging a bullet in the wall behind me. He tries to turn back and reposition as I dive down and roll to the side of the bed.

  Belfast is out of the bed and on him, driving him straight back across the length of the room. It’s impossible to get a shot in, or even decide who to shoot. They crash into the bathroom where Belfast repeatedly slams the back of his head into the wooden doorframe.

  “That’s enough,” I shout as he lets go, stumbles out, and sinks to the floor holding his ribs.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “I don’t…” He tries to
speak but ends up writhing on the floor from the pain.

  “Take it easy.” I holster my weapon and bend down to help him up. “Let’s get you up and back into…”

  Belfast wraps me up and rolls us over onto the ground. I’m on top, but he has my back, with my arms secured behind my head and his legs hooked around mine. I can’t move.

  Without a word, he raises up his left hand and it’s now holding one of the syringes his assailants tried to use on him.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I struggle, but it only makes things worse. Each time I move, he tightens his hold on me. I stop and then start again suddenly, hoping his injured condition and a quick surge of adrenaline will free me.

  Belfast laughs. “Easy, Georgie, I can't really remember if this gown opens in the front or not.”

  “Mother… Fucker.” I fight with every ounce of strength I can muster, but it’s not enough.

  “Shhh,” he calmly whispers in my ear. “Relax.” He pushes the tip of the needle into the side of my neck and I instantly feel the sensation of the cold liquid entering my bloodstream.

  My eyelids get heavy and I feel his grip loosen on my arms and from around my legs, but I’m powerless to do anything.

  The world is falling into a muffled and muted state. I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m weightless and floating. The last thing I hear is the sound of Belfast whispering in my ear, "I'm sorry, luv.”

  Chapter Three

  Belfast

  I'm on the first elevator I find and halfway to the basement before it dawns on me that I forgot to grab clothes. Squinting my eyes, I try to make out my reflection in the stainless steel panels, but the image is too blurred.

  My head is spinning and I’m feeling unsteady. I lean forward against the edge of the doors as the alert chime sounds. The two sides slide open and I find myself staring at what looks to be the entire Boston Police Department, crammed into the front lobby of the hospital’s emergency room.

  In my injured haste, I’ve apparently hit the wrong fucking button, and I feel every muscle in my body tighten as I slowly look around the room.

  “Fuck you.” I hear a voice call out.

  “Cocksucker.” And then another. This is it. I quickly snap my head back and forth, looking for the cops shouting at me. But everywhere I turn, I see the same thing. I’m staring at the back of every head I see.

  They’re all focused on whoever is yelling on the opposite side of the room. “Fuck off.”

  I stand frozen, half-naked and in full view for what seems like the longest ten seconds in recorded history, before the doors finally slide closed.

  “What the…” My knees are weak and I can barely stand. “Fuck?”

  The elevator’s motion has me unsteady again. My ribs ache and my stomach is on fire as I reach for the call buttons. None of them are lit and it suddenly hits me, someone must've called the elevator.

  Before I have time to even process what’s happening, the alert sounds and the doors slide open again. This time, two people, a man and a woman, step in wearing hospital scrubs. They both stop talking and stare at me in silence. Just before the doors close, the male steps back and holds them open.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake. You got this?”

  “I do, just let them know we’re coming up,” the woman responds, and he steps off the elevator, letting the doors close behind him.

  “Hi.” She smiles as she looks me up and down. “Are you okay?”

  “Um… I’m a little turned around.” I can barely get the words out before she’s looking to help.

  “Oh, don’t worry, it happens all the time. Let’s get you back where you need to be.” She reaches over and pushes a button on the call panel. “Do you mind if I help you close this up?” She points to my waist. I look down and realize that the hospital gown is wide open in the front.

  “Sorry.” I push myself up off the sidewall and try to close my gown, but my movements are sluggish and slow.

  “It’s ok.” She steps in and helps. “My goodness,” she gasps when she sees the scars on my torso. “You’re an angry fella.”

  “Wha…” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Did you do these all yourself?” She helps me wrap the gown closed. She’s not making sense.

  “You think I did this to myself?” She thinks I’m a cutter?

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging you. It’s none of my business.” The alert chime sounds and the doors slide open once again. “Let me help you.” She guides me forward. “You look like you’ve been through it.”

  We step out into an empty waiting area with a small sign on the wall reading Acute Psych Dept.

  “Just sit here and let me get one of your staff.” She helps me ease down onto the closest chair and steps over to the staff station to look for assistance.

  My body aches from head to toe and my head is throbbing.

  She peers through the security glass across the room. “I don't see anyone.”

  I'm not sure how much time has passed since I left the room, but I know it won't be long before everyone in this place is looking for me. I've been lucky so far, but luck runs out. I have to keep moving.

  “I'm just going to step through here for a minute. You'll be okay, right?” She stares at me with the door already half open.

  Before I can answer and before she can react, a deranged looking man crashes into her and the door, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Once more unto the breach.”

  He's followed closely by two burly male hospital staff and three more patients, one of whom is screaming just as loudly as the first, “I'm Batman.”

  Batman then proceeds to single-handedly put an ass-whooping on both male staff, shouting Bam and Kapow out loud every time he hits them.

  Four more patients come crashing through the door, with two more staff in close pursuit, and complete chaos ensues. They all end up in a shouting, twisted pile of entangled arms and legs on the floor, where it becomes impossible to tell who's who.

  Batman keeps shouting "Somebody call Commissioner Gordon," from the bottom of the pile, as the orderlies try to restrain him.

  I need to get going.

  I stumble my way back into the elevator as the group continues to struggle.

  Batman somehow frees himself from the pile and leaps inside with me just as the doors close. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and then steps back against the wall with his arms crossed on his chest. “Could you press the button for the main lobby, please?” he asks while staring straight ahead.

  “I could, but I'd rather not.”

  Batman slowly turns his head to look at me, and for a moment he looks completely sane. “Can I ask why?”

  “Because right now that lobby is packed with angry police officers and I'd like to find a quiet way to get the fuck out of this place.”

  He takes a moment to consider what I've said and a smile spreads across his face. “Did you say packed with police officers?”

  “I said angry police officers.”

  Batman quickly reaches over and presses the stop button.

  “What the fuck are ya doing?” I snatch hold of his hand.

  “I'm taking you to a quiet way out.” He smiles again. “Now let go of my hand, please.”

  At this point, why not trust a guy who thinks he's Batman? I release his hand and allow him to press the call button.

  He steps back against the wall and stares straight ahead again. “Finally, an epic battle.” He seems excited.

  We ride in silence until the doors open into what looks like a maintenance corridor in the basement. Batman extends his arm, inviting me to step out.

  “If you follow this corridor all the way to the end, you'll find your quiet exit.”

  I move forward and take a look down the long, empty hallway. I turn back as the elevator doors close with Batman standing inside, smiling.

  Get moving, I mentally prod myself, but I’m not sure my body will cooperate. Pretty much every i
nch of me aches and my head is throbbing, like it’s been split clear down the middle with an ax. But giving up is not an option. I must push on and there’s no time to waste.

  I lean against the wall and start to edge forward, dragging myself along the cold stone and fighting this skull-splitting headache.

  The fluorescent lights are too bright, and within a few steps I stop to vomit. Spitting the vile taste from my mouth, I fight the urge to sit down, just for a minute.

  I hear ringing and everything spins around me. I try to grip onto the cement wall. Get it together. Stop being a pussy and keep fucking moving.

  Something is poking me. “Get up, douchebag.” A guy in a white uniform is standing over me in the hallway. “I said, get up, douchebag.” He hits me in the ribs with the top of the mop handle he's holding. “You're cleaning up after yourself and then I'm taking you back upstairs. Give me any shit and I'll stick this thing straight up your ass.” He waits approximately three seconds before he winds up to really make his point. “Have it your way, junkie.”

  I can't move in time. I can only cover up and wait. But nothing happens. He stops mid-windup and drops to the ground beside me.

  My new friend, Batman, is standing directly behind him, still holding the fire extinguisher he's just used to coldcock the orderly.

  He looks at me and smiles sheepishly. “Did you mean the emergency room lobby or the front entrance lobby?”

  “The emergency room.”

  “Packed, you said?” He helps me up.

  “Overflowing.”

  He smiles and starts helping me down the corridor. “Let's get you out of here. This is no place for a good citizen like yourself.” We reach the door. “I'm afraid this is where we must part ways.” He leans me up against it. “I have an epic battle ahead of me.” He turns, dashing back down the hall toward the elevator without another word.

  My head pounds, and with my rib injuries it’s painful to breathe, but I need to keep pressing on. Pushing against the door, I stagger out into the cold night air. I stumble along the side of a metal container until I reach the edge and assess what’s next.