by Alex Ander
Cruz was not expecting the verbal attack. Pompous. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.
Several minutes passed, while the women sat in silence. The darkness that surrounded the vehicle and its passengers made the tension inside worse. The Renegade sped through several intersections, never having to stop for red lights.
Cruz thought about her actions and her attitude. She was beginning to think that maybe Dahlia had a point. Hardy had given her a brief synopsis of Dahlia, not getting into any details. Maybe, I’ve been a little too judgmental, she thought, calling to mind her reaction to Dahlia in the OR. She said a short prayer in her mind, asking God for His help in choosing her next words. “Listen, Dahlia, since we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future, I think we should try to make the best of the circumstances.”
Dahlia was quiet. She stared through the windshield, occasionally looking into her rear view mirror. For the past few minutes, she had been expecting a verbal retaliation that never came.
A full minute of silence ensued, ending with an apology from Cruz. “I’m sorry. Hardy only gave me the cliff notes on you and…maybe I’ve jumped to some unfair conclusions.”
Dahlia’s mind was spinning. Instead of an attack, she was getting an act of contrition. What’s this woman all about?
Cruz twisted in her seat and extended her right hand toward Dahlia.
Dahlia glanced at the hand and realized its owner was offering the proverbial olive branch. This was going to be a long mission if the two of them did not make peace. Inwardly, she sighed. This is not how I thought this was going to play out. She had envisioned working with Hardy, not his girlfriend. She clasped Cruz’s hand. “I apologize, too. I think I’ve been a little…on edge, lately.” She thought back to Cruz’s words when they had gotten into the Renegade. “Thank you for what you said. I’m not usually on the receiving end of many compliments.”
Cruz waited a few moments before asking Dahlia a question that had been getting the better of her curiosity. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was in the red bag?”
Before she could stop it, Dahlia let a small smile stretch across her face, thinking about the recipient of the gift. “Julio and his wife have a son, Ramon. He has severe disabilities. He absolutely loves anything to do with fire fighters—fire engines, ladders, hoses, hats…you name it.”
Cruz watched the features of Dahlia’s face soften, while she spoke about Ramon.
“Anyway, I bought him a fire fighter outfit online. It has all the accessories—coat, hat, oxygen mask and tank…it was the cutest thing.” She paused, still thinking of Ramon. “I wish I could be there to see his face when he opens it.”
Cruz was seeing a side to Dahlia’s personality she did not expect to see. She had caught a faint glimpse of it at the restaurant, when Dahlia learned the President’s daughter had been kidnapped. “Well, sometimes letting our imaginations picture the moment is good, too.” Following up on the rapport being established, she asked another question. This one, however, was not so benign. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but what actually happened when you were with the FBI? As I said, Hardy didn’t elaborate and, as an agent, I’m curious. Your name has never been mentioned in all the time I’ve worked at the bureau.”
Dahlia’s demeanor changed. Her smile faded and the events that led up to her departure from the FBI flashed across her mind.
Seeing the transformation on Dahlia’s face, Cruz regretted asking the question.
“I’m not surprised. I’m sure the FBI has buried my name along with what actually happened that day.” Out of the corner of her eye, Dahlia saw Cruz staring at her. She did not really want to re-live those events and the days, weeks and months that followed. No, those were the darkest times of her life; however, she could tell Cruz was making an effort to get to know the woman, not the assassin.
Cruz backtracked. “That’s okay. It’s really none of my business.” She changed the subject. “So, what do you know about this man we’re going to see? Do you think he can lead us to Yamadi?” There was more silence, while she waited for Dahlia to reply. When she got her reply, it took her by surprise.
“This creep had already shot and killed two people before taking a family of five hostage; a father, mother and three children. We had the house surrounded. The perp wasn’t going anywhere. We were ready to go in, but the Special Agent in Charge was waiting for a hostage negotiator to arrive. Apparently, killing two people already wasn’t enough for the SAC to realize this guy was not going to be talked down.” Dahlia paused.
“What happened next?”
Dahlia shook her head to break her mindless stare. “I was watching the SAC and a highly respected senior agent argue over procedural protocol. Suddenly, we heard gunshots coming from the house.” She smacked the steering wheel with her palm. “That jackass still wanted to wait for a negotiator.” Dahlia applied steady pressure to the brake pedal and the Renegade came to a halt at a traffic light. She rubbed her face with both hands before running her fingers through the length of her hair. The traffic light turned green and her foot transitioned to the accelerator. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I charged into the house, safety off. Clearing the living room, I moved into the kitchen and that’s where I saw him…he was literally standing in the blood of those people…those kids…one was the same age as Ramon, not more than five-years-old.”
As the vehicle passed through another intersection, a streetlight illuminated the side of Dahlia’s face. Cruz saw a tear making its way down the woman’s right cheek. The President’s daughter; Julio’s son, Ramon; the children killed in the hostage situation. Cruz put the puzzle pieces together and got a clearer picture of Dahlia. Yes, she had killed people, but she also had a special place in her heart for children. The image of Dahlia that Cruz had created was being torn apart the more she learned about this woman.
“I’m not sure what happened next. All I remember was that he raised and pointed his weapon at me. The next thing I saw through my red dot was his body falling to the floor.”
“You shot him,” said Cruz, flatly.
Dahlia nodded her head and dragged out her words. “I shot him many, many, many times.” Thirty seconds of silence passed. “I know Hardy must have told you about the fallout from the incident and how I was blamed for the deaths of those people, effectively ending my career with the FBI…or any other law enforcement agency in the country for that matter.”
“Yes, he has.” Cruz glanced toward the floor of the SUV. She did not know what to say next. Fortunately, Dahlia spoke first.
“We’re here.” Dahlia piloted the Renegade into a parking spot away from any nearby streetlights. She put the transmission into ‘park’ and turned off the engine. “That’s where he is.” She pointed at the back of a two-story brick house situated on the corner of an intersection in a residential neighborhood in Queens. The inside of the house was dark. Some of the nearby homes had one or two lights on, the homeowners preparing to start their day. The houses across the street had a good view of the front door of the house in question. Dahlia sat still, tapping her finger on the steering wheel, scanning the area. “We have less than ten minutes before sunrise. I want to be in the house before that happens.”
“How many people are in there with him?”
“He has at least two at all times. Three is the most I’ve seen.”
“All right, let me do the talking.” Cruz retrieved her FBI credentials. “I don’t want to have to get a search warrant. We don’t have time for that. Let’s hope he’s in a cooperative mood.”
Dahlia pointed at the FBI credentials. “We’ll be breaking several rules during this operation, so it would be best if you just leave that behind and let me handle this…my way.” She opened her door and got out. Moving around to the rear of the SUV, she opened the rear hatch and rummaged through duffle bags and designer suitcases. When Cruz appeared at the corner of the vehicle, Dahlia quizzed her. “What are you carrying—we
apon wise?”
Cruz touched her right hip area. “You mean my pistol? I’ve got a Glock 22.”
“Does it have a threaded barrel?”
“No.”
“Leave it behind.” Dahlia leaned forward and picked up a pistol with one hand and two magazines with the other. She attached a sound suppressor to the threaded barrel of a Walther PPQ M2, chambered in nine millimeter, and gave the weapon and magazines to Cruz. “If you fire your Glock in there, we won’t make it to the front door before the cops show up.”
Taking the pistol, Cruz examined it. “This is the same gun Hardy carries.”
“I know.” Dahlia unzipped her leather coat and grabbed a second Walther PPQ M2 and a holster. “Once I saw his, I had to get one for myself.” She clipped a kydex holster to the waistband on the right side of her mini skirt and slid the silenced Walther into the holster. After attaching a magazine pouch to the other side of her skirt, she put two spare magazines in the pouch and left her coat unzipped for quick access to the firearm.
After swapping out her holster and magazine pouch for ones that matched what Dahlia was wearing, Cruz left her long blazer unbuttoned, too. “So, are you going to give me a hint on what we’re doing?”
Dahlia was bent over with her hand inside the duffle bag. When she stood, she was holding an ergonomic stun gun made by Sabre. “He may not want to let us in, but I can be quite persuasive and,” she raised her eyebrows before adding, “downright electrifying, when necessary.”
Cruz rolled her eyes and shook her head, thinking she had heard a line from a bad movie.
Grabbing a few plastic zip ties and stuffing them into her coat pocket, Dahlia joked with her partner. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to lighten up.” She stepped back and shut the door. Smiling, she patted Cruz’s arm. “Have your gun ready and follow my lead.” Dahlia walked away from the Renegade and headed down the sidewalk. Her head on a swivel, she surveyed the area.
Chapter 15: English, Abdul
Reaching the top of the stone steps to the house, Dahlia took one last look around the immediate area before nodding at Cruz, who was waiting at the base of the stairs, out of sight. Dahlia pulled back the lapels of her coat as much as she could without revealing her gun or spare magazines. She cupped her breasts and pushed them up before striking a pose, shifting her weight to her right foot and putting her left hand behind her back. She pushed the doorbell and placed her right hand on her right hip.
After twenty seconds and no response, Dahlia was about to push the doorbell a second time, when the porch light came on and she heard noise coming from inside the house. “Show time,” she whispered. The door opened and a man with dark hair and a goatee stuck his head out from behind the door. She watched his eyes drop the length of her body, moving from her eyes to her breasts to her thighs and boots.
Dahlia gave the man her best impression of a helpless female. “Um, my car broke down,” she removed her hand from her hip and held it out straight to her right, “over there and I need to…um…make a call.” She smiled and rocked forward on the heel of her left boot, while arching her back. “And, I left my stupid cell phone at some party…I don’t remember where.” She stepped closer to the screen door. Her breasts were an inch from the mesh screen. “Can I use your phone?” She put her right hand on her forehead. “My head’s really hurting.” She smiled and held her eyelids halfway open. “I think I’ve had…a little too much to drink.”
The man’s eyes were fixated on Dahlia’s body parts. He managed to break his gaze long enough to take a quick look around the area. Opening the door, he unlocked the screen door.
Dahlia heard the click of the screen door and pounced. She swung her left arm out from behind her body and pressed the stun gun into the screen, making contact with the man’s chest. Thirty thousand volts coursed through his body before it went rigid and he dropped to the floor, twitching.
In less than ten seconds, Dahlia had entered the house, removed a set of plastic zip ties from her coat pocket and secured the man’s hands behind his back.
“I’ll take point.” Cruz skirted around Dahlia and took a forward position. She went down on one knee and scanned for additional threats.
Dahlia dragged the man further into the house before closing the door and shutting off the porch light. After stuffing one of her silk scarves into his mouth, she wrapped a couple of longer zip ties around his mouth.
Cruz glanced over her shoulder. “The immediate area is clear.”
Dahlia withdrew her pistol and bypassed her teammate, moving deeper into the living room. She nodded at Cruz, who leapfrogged her and cleared the next area. Employing this technique several more times, the women cleared the main floor.
Dahlia got Cruz’s attention and pointed upstairs. Hurrying toward the bottom of the staircase, Dahlia passed the kitchen and missed the figure exiting the room. Her back was to the man, who leveled his pistol at her.
“Dahlia!” shouted Cruz, squeezing the trigger of her weapon and sending a couple nine-millimeter rounds into the side of the man’s torso. The man’s body twisted and he hit the wall. He was already dead from where the bullets ended up in his body, but his brain had another thirty seconds of control. He spun around and extended his gun toward Cruz.
Cruz pulled back on the trigger of her weapon, but nothing happened. The slide was being held out of battery by an empty case. She pressed the magazine release button and moved the slide back and forth a couple of times. Reaching for a spare magazine, she lifted her eyes and found herself staring into a big black hole—the muzzle of the man’s weapon. Fixated on the gun pointed at her head, she continued the process of reloading her empty pistol, knowing she would never make it ready in time. He had the advantage. Her muscles tightened, bracing for the impact of the bullets. Below the man’s gun hand, Cruz saw his throat split apart. Three separate sprays of blood jettisoned into the air from the wound. The man’s hand dropped to his side and he fell to his knees. A second later, he tipped over and landed on his left side, like a tree being felled in the forest.
Cruz slammed a fresh magazine into her firearm and drew back the slide. She eyed the dead man. Dahlia had shot him in the back of the neck, severing his spinal cord and making it impossible for him to squeeze the trigger. Cruz sidestepped the body and drew up behind Dahlia at the base of the stairs. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
Dahlia acknowledged her. “I can say the same thing to you.” She took the lead. “I’ll share that kill with you.”
Cruz grinned and admired her partner’s cool attitude during a stressful situation.
“Keep your eyes peeled.” Dahlia’s boots landed on the floor of the second level. “There may be more hostiles.” Dahlia moved left. She and Cruz cleared the bathroom and one bedroom. One room remained—a corner bedroom on the other side of the staircase. Crossing the stairs, Dahlia stood in front of the bedroom door and signaled for Cruz to open it.
Cruz got into position next to the door, her back to the wall. The door’s knob was next to her left hand. She slowly twisted it all the way. Shifting her eyes toward Dahlia, who indicated she was ready, Cruz threw the door open, spun around and stepped back.
Dahlia charged into the room and darted left, swinging her pistol back and forth.
Cruz moved in behind her and went right. They saw the room was empty, except for a man in the bed.
Not knowing who was in his room, the man leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp.
Dahlia saw him. He’s going for a gun. She ran toward him and brought the muzzle of her pistol down his wrist. With the man howling in pain, she leapt onto the bed and straddled his body between her knees. Grabbing the pillow next to his head, she held it over his mouth and pressed her pistol’s sound suppressor against his forehead. The man’s eyes opened wider. “Do I have your attention, Abdul?” He nodded his head. When she removed the pillow from his mouth, he spoke to her in Arabic. “English, Abdul,” said Dahlia. “I know you can speak it.” Again, Arabic words shot out o
f his mouth. She swung the pistol around behind her and pressed it against his crotch. He was not wearing underwear. She smiled. “You will speak to me in English.” She cocked her head and stared at him. Her eyes had adjusted to the room’s low light and she could see the fear in his eyes. “The tone of voice you’ll be using, however, is entirely up to you.” Her knees felt his body quiver, when she jammed the sound suppressor further into his genitals.
He nodded his head as fast as he could. “Okay, okay, I speak English. I speak English. Who are you? What do you want from me?”
Dahlia re-applied her weapon to his forehead. “Let’s set the ground rules, Abdul. You don’t ask questions…you answer them. Do you understand me?” The man nodded his head and Dahlia shook her head. “Don’t nod your head…answer me.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Dahlia turned on the bedside lamp, examined the room and spied what she wanted. She faced Abdul and motioned with her head. “Get up and sit in that chair over there.” She swung her right leg over his body and stood away from the bed. “If you do anything I don’t like…I’ll shoot you between the eyes.”
Wearing only a long nightshirt, Abdul got out of bed and shuffled toward the chair.
Dahlia stopped him and ordered him to take off the rest of his clothes. When he protested, she took a step toward him and aimed the pistol at his head.
He raised his hands in front of his face before disrobing and dropping the shirt on the floor. He was naked, sitting in the cheap vinyl-padded chair with no armrests. He folded his hands and covered his genitals.
Seeing that Cruz had him covered, Dahlia holstered her pistol and retrieved several pairs of zip ties from her coat pocket. She sauntered past Abdul and stood behind him. She reached around his body as if she was going to give him a hug. Grabbing his forearms, she yanked his hands away from his crotch and brought them behind his back. While securing his hands with the zip ties, she whispered in his ear. “Don’t be so modest, Abdul.”
