by S L Shelton
“What are you doing?” Storc asked as Bonbon knocked on the door.
“I’ll call you back,” Bonbon said and hung up, cutting Storc off mid-protest.
A moment later, the door opened, and a woman wearing medical scrubs greeted her.
“Hi!” Bonbon said. “I’m Bonny, and my friend Scott lives across the street.”
“I know Scott,” she said. “Is everything all right with him? I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Oh yeah, he’s fine,” Bonbon replied. “He’s off at some technical school for work.”
“Ah,” the neighbor said in a breathy manner. “That’s good. Some of us were worried.”
“Yeah. He’s not too good at letting people know what’s going on,” Bonbon said.
“No. That’s not what I meant. When I saw those guys going in there today wearing clean suits, I thought maybe Scott was sick or something,” she said.
“Black SUVs?”
The neighbor nodded. “They left just a little while ago,” she added. “They wouldn’t talk to me. Just told me to go back to my apartment or they’d have to call law enforcement to secure the area.”
“Shit,” Bonbon muttered.
“The funny thing is, I could have sworn they were carrying guns,” she said. “Anyway. I’m glad Scott is okay. When’s he coming back?”
Bonbon shrugged, staring into space. “Huh? Oh. I don’t know,” she said suddenly, snapping out of her thought. “I think the course is supposed to last a year.”
“A year! Wow,” the neighbor replied. “Well, let him know Donna was asking about him if you see him before then.”
Bonbon nodded absently, “Sure,” she said, turning away. She looked over her shoulder and added, as an afterthought, “Thanks.”
She walked back over to Scott’s house and sat on the front porch.
“Scott, what the hell are you into now?”
**
4:55 p.m. on Monday, January 3rd—CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
JOHN TEMPLE, sitting at his desk with his new phone to his ear, sighed in relief. “Excellent,” he said to Chief Seifert, who was on the other end of the line. “When can you move him out?”
“Doc said two days,” Seifert replied. “But Gaines is already packing a go bag. I think he may take off before then.”
“Well if he decides to go, don’t fight him on it,” John said. “He knows how to contact us once he gets to where he’s going.”
“You got it,” Seifert replied.
“Thanks, Majesty. I promise I’ll get you your leave time back,” John said. “Make sure the other guys know that.”
“I’m less worried about our vacation time than I am about leaving you unprotected.”
“Mark is more important at this point,” John replied. “I’ll be alright on my own until after he’s off safely.”
“I don’t know, Captain,” Seifert said with tension in his voice. “You’ve got me pretty well convinced we’re all up shit’s creek.”
“I’m fine,” John reaffirmed, despite his silent anxiety.
“You’re the boss,” Seifert replied. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Thanks again,” John said before ending the call. Before he even had time to place the phone in his pocket, the desk phone rang.
“Temple,” he answered.
“Sir, this is Rhonda McCahill with internal security. There has been a breach on a property associated with your section,” she said, sending John out of his chair. “A call came in about the residence of Scott Wolfe.”
“When?” John asked as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
“We got the call just a few minutes ago,” she replied. “A security team has already been dispatched.”
“Who called?” John asked as he made his way around the desk, preparing for a dash to the door.
“Story Carson, from TravTech,” she said. “Apparently, someone named Bonny Little is on site and discovered the break in.”
“Let internal security know I’m on my way,” he said.
“Yes, s—”
John dropped the phone back into its cradle and sprinted out of the office. On his way to the garage, he pulled out his phone and dialed Nick’s number.
“Horiatis,” Nick answered.
“Nick, I just got a call that Scott’s condo was broken into,” John said. “I’m on my way over. Internal security should be there shortly if they aren’t there already.”
“Any chance it was just a run-of-the-mill burglary?” Nick asked.
“Not with that entry and alarm system,” John said. “They must have been pros.”
“Shit,” Nick muttered. “Should I tell Scott?”
“No. I’ll tell him myself once I’m on site. No sense in worrying him until I can evaluate the damage,” John replied as he drove quickly out of the covered lot. “But I think I’m going to need you here. One of us needs to be around to run the section if I’m going to be playing as bait now.”
“Alright,” Nick replied. “I’ll head out now. Are the SEALs back yet?”
“No. They haven’t seen our package off yet,” John said, referring to Mark Gaines as he pulled out of the facility and onto the road. “As soon as DJ is clear, they’ll be back on post outside my door.”
“You should be sleeping at Langley,” Nick replied. “Or at least get internal to send someone home with you.”
“Then they’d know we’re expecting them,” John said, though there was an edge of worry to his tone. “This is the only way.”
“Then why don’t you at least go home and let me check Scott’s place,” Nick offered. “I can be there in three hours. I don’t like you being out in the open like that.”
“I’m twenty-five minutes away,” John replied, stepping harder on the accelerator. “Besides, security will be there. I’ll be safer there than at home.”
“If you say so,” Nick said, sounding a bit agitated.
“I appreciate the concern, Nick,” John said, trying to repair the mild rift. “Why don’t you come out to Leesburg and stay with me until the SEALs get back in town.”
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Nick replied.
John ended the call and increased his speed again. The roads were lightly traveled as it was the Monday after New Year’s—an official day off. He arrived at Scott’s condo faster than he had expected. As predicted, internal security was already there.
He couldn’t park on the court due to the number of vehicles, so he settled for the grass median at the corner. Bonbon was sitting on the hood of her car, watching the men go in and out.
“Bonny,” John called as he got out of his truck and walked hurriedly toward her.
“Hi John,” she said in a bubbly fashion as if she were at a block party.
“Did you go inside?” John asked.
“I went in before I knew I wasn’t supposed to,” she said somewhat defensively. “I didn’t touch anything. I promise.”
“But you’re okay?” John asked.
She pressed her lips together in what could only be described as a “duck face”, drawing her head back as if it had been a silly question. “I’m fine. But Scott’s house has looked better. It’s an OCD’s worst nightmare in there.”
“Have you talked to Scott?” John asked, hoping “no” would be the answer.
“Yep,” she said, pumping her feet back and forth like a little girl. “Just hung up with him a few minutes ago.”
“Shit,” John muttered and then pulled out his phone to dial Scott.
It rang once and went to voicemail.
“Shit,” John muttered again and ended the call without leaving a message.
“What did you tell him?” John asked.
“All he wanted to know was if there were any holes in the walls,” she replied.
“Are there?”
“Nope,” she replied, sliding off the hood of her car. “But every piece of furniture has been torn apart…even the toilets.
”
John nodded and walked toward the condo. He paused halfway and turned back to Bonbon. “That was all he asked about?” John asked.
Bonbon nodded.
“Did he say why that was important?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, thanks. You can go home now,” he said before looking over at the officers by the parking lot entrance. “You can let Miss Little leave.”
They nodded and proceeded to back their vehicles out enough for Bonny to drive through.
“Is Scott in trouble?” she asked as she got into her car.
“No,” John said reassuringly. “He’s safe and sound, far away from all of this.”
She stared at John for a moment before starting the engine and backing out. “Take care of him,” she said. “He’s family.”
“I will…I promise,” John said sincerely.
John watched her pull away before he went in. Taking two steps at time up to the living room, the mask of calm he had donned for Bonny’s benefit disappeared as he saw the damage. Men were busy collecting fibers and sweeping for fingerprints.
“Anything?” John asked one of them.
“Nothing yet,” the man replied. “The foot indentations in the carpet have paper fibers in them. They came in with clean suits. I don’t think we’ll get much.”
“How many?” John asked.
“We spoke with the neighbor and she said it looked like eight or nine men and that they might have had weapons,” he replied. “So far, that headcount estimate is supported by what we’ve found.”
John nodded and then went into the back of the house where the site supervisor was overseeing the collection of evidence in the bedroom. John motioned him to the side.
“What’s up?” the man asked.
“As soon as you’re done here, let me know what you find,” John replied. “Once everyone is gone, but before the cleanup team comes in, I want you to do a sonogram sweep of the walls…just you.”
“Why?” the man asked.
“Just do it,” John replied with a clipped tone. “Don’t retrieve anything you find, and leave it out of your report. But call me and let me know.”
The man nodded.
“You can get me through the switchboard when you’re done,” John said before he turned and left. He paused in the living room and looked up at the vaulted ceiling before he turned and made a slow, lingering scan of the apartment.
What are you hiding in your walls, Scott? John wondered before continuing downstairs and back to his truck.
During the entire drive to Leesburg, Scott’s question to Bonny bothered John. “Are there any holes in the walls?” He couldn’t shake it. He was so focused on that puzzle that he nearly forgot he was about to have Nick overnight. Missing his turn, he had to go down one intersection further than he had planned to stop at the Safeway to pick up groceries.
He pulled his phone out once he was parked in the grocery store parking lot and tried dialing Scott again. Again, it went to voicemail.
“Scott, it’s John. Give me a call when you get this. We need to talk about next steps.” He ended the call and stuffed the phone back into his pocket before shopping.
Once he had finished gathering and purchasing his groceries, he loaded up the backseat of his truck and continued home. He pulled his truck around back and picked up three of the five bags of groceries, taking them into the house. As he was trying to maneuver the door open with his foot, his phone rang in his pocket.
“Shit,” he muttered as he pushed the door open. He dropped the groceries on the counter before digging his phone out. The call was from the switchboard.
“Temple,” he answered, anxious to hear if there was news from the sonogram search on Scott’s walls.
“Sir. It’s Howard Long with CS,” the senior tech replied.
“What did you find, Howard?” John asked, wandering into the dining room. When he came around the corner, he looked up and saw the lock plate on his front door was broken.
“I didn’t find much but some paper behind one of the up—”
John sensed movement upstairs and quietly set the phone down on the dining room table while withdrawing his Glock from under his jacket. As he stepped softly into the hallway, he saw movement in his peripheral vision behind him and to his left.
He swept his arm around quickly. The first bullet hit John in the hip as he dove to the side; the second one hit his chest. Though his body armor stopped the bullet, it felt as though someone had hit him with a hammer. John squeezed his trigger as he fell, striking the man twice in the head.
The sound of footsteps descending the stairs forced his focus away from the pain in his hip and the shortness of breath from the hammer blow to his chest. He emptied one full magazine up the stairs as he heard more silenced clacks from above. Around him, the floor and woodwork splintered and chipped from the suppressed gunfire—much of it coming from automatic weapons.
He rolled around the corner, dropping the first magazine to the floor as he reached with his other hand to get another. Two men in black fatigues came around the living room doorway and began firing at him. He fired at them, hitting one in the head while trying to push himself backward with his good leg—he had to get back to the dining room.
He rolled out of the center of the floor, the pain in his hip screaming at him with each movement. As he slapped his last magazine into his Glock, there was a thud next to him. He looked to his side.
Grenade!
He threw himself forward into the dining room he had finished remodeling a little more than a year ago. He reached the latch for the door release to his safe-room only seconds too late. The grenade went off, sending hot shrapnel into his lower body. His legs, back, and feet felt as though they were caught in some hellish hailstorm. The pain was so intense it threatened to pull him into unconsciousness.
His ears were still ringing from the blast as he hit the release on the safe room door. As the concrete and steel door dipped back and slid to the side, more attackers rounded the corner. He fired, emptying his last magazine as the door finished opening.
In the brief seconds of peace he had purchased with that last magazine, he began dragging himself backwards into the narrow space. He hit the hydraulic close button on the inside of the room just as they charged again. The heavy door began to slam shut. A stray bullet managed to find the last window of opportunity before the door sealed completely. The stray round embedded itself under his collarbone, throwing him backward against the spiral staircase that led to the basement portion of his safe room.
Clank. The door crashed shut, sealing tight.
John leaned back, slipping in and out of consciousness but realizing he had to get down the stairs. He simply let himself fall backward, rolling painfully and then sliding the last few steps on his back. At the bottom, he reached up to hit the button for the second secure door, but his shoulder wound flared in agony. Instead, he rolled to his side and used his right hand to hit the button, sending the steel and concrete slab above rolling into place before dropping into its recess.
The security monitors in the tight compartment immediately flashed to life, bringing some light into the darkened enclosure. In the light of the monitors, he reached for his medic kit.
“How did I miss that?” he muttered as he opened the kit and dumped the contents on the floor in front of him.
As his fingers danced over the spilled contents, searching for the items he needed, he watched the monitors on the table in front of him. He saw one of the attackers place a grenade at the base of the upstairs safe room door. A moment later, the concussion shook the walls inside the small room, but outside, it did little more than remove the woodwork.
“All that sanding,” he said in disgust.
Once he had the syringe he needed, he pulled the cap off with his teeth and then sank it into his thigh, closest to his wounds. The automatic injection released its contents, instantly making him more aware of his surroundings—and the pain. The next injection
took care of that.
He fingered rolls of gauze and began to stuff his collar wound with it before laying back to watch the activity in the house above him. He would be safe from most assaults in his concrete and steel mini-bunker—it was little more than a closet in the basement, but there was food and water to last several days if required.
He shook his head after briefly worrying if he had stocked enough rations. “I’ll bleed out long before I starve,” he muttered as his head began to throb from the adrenaline he had injected. He also noted with amusement the erection it had given him. “Sorry I didn’t stock anything for you, pal,” he said toward his penis and then laughed at the ridiculousness of his conversation.
He looked at the monitors again to see the progress of his attackers when a giant walked into the view of his dining room camera. “You,” he muttered as he pressed an adhesive patch over the wound he had just stuffed gauze into. “I should have ordered that chopper to slice you down in the desert.”
John noticed that if the man were any taller, he would have to duck down to walk through the house. He had to duck going through doorways as it was. John saw the man was speaking to the other men, so he reached up with painful determination and turned the volume up on the monitors.
“Again,” the giant commanded.
A second and third grenade were placed at the base of the entry door. He knew his room could take a beating, but eventually they would use something stronger than grenades to extract him.
Screw it, he thought. I’ll bleed to death before they figure out how to get in.
A sudden surge of anger, aided by the adrenaline, pushed into John’s head. “No!” he yelled at himself for thinking like that. “I’m not dead yet.”
His heart sank when he realized what he had to do. He reached up to the control board and flipped a cover off a button pad. After he pulled himself up to see the numbers, he punched in his four-digit code and closed his eyes.
“All that work, down the shitter,” he muttered and then hit enter.
The scene outside changed rapidly. Flames licked up all walls simultaneously. The heat rose so quickly that the cameras burned out before the men in the house stopped moving. However, before they flared out completely, he saw the giant grab his phone from the dining room table.
