Unexpected Gaines

by S L Shelton

  He arrived at the target broadcast booth and deftly picked the lock. He was inside in a matter of moments.

  “Okay,” he whispered into his cell phone headset. “I’m in.”

  “You're sure you know which chair belongs to Harmon?” the deep voice at the other end asked, referring to the conservative talk-show host who used the studio.

  “Yes,” Scoggins replied. “I watched hours of the show on YouTube. He’s always in the same chair.”

  “Excellent. Lift the seat from the central post.”

  Scoggins proceeded to lift the heavy chair, placing his foot on one of the five radial rollers at the bottom. The chair didn’t move from the post.

  “It’s not coming loose,” Scoggins said. “Hold on.”

  He got down on his knees and looked under the seat with his flashlight.

  “It’s bolted,” he added. “Give me a minute.”

  “Take your time. We want it done correctly.”

  “Uh huh,” Scoggins grunted as he began loosening the screws.

  After a few moments, the last screw dropped to the ground.

  “Okay,” he said as he lifted the seat off the post. “It’s off.”

  “Good. Now take the first cylinder and place it gently into the opening of the post,” the man on the phone said. “Careful not to drop it. The electronics are delicate.”

  Scoggins did as ordered and lowered the metallic tube he had been given into the opening. When his fingers reached the top of the rim, he released it. It hit roughly at the bottom with a loud clank.

  “Okay,” Scoggins said. “It’s in.”

  “Good. Now return the seat and bolt it back together.”

  Scoggins did as directed and then rose, sitting in the seat to make sure it was solid and its lifting and lowering functions were still intact. Satisfied he had completed his task as directed, he picked up his tools and stowed them in the pouch hanging from his shoulder.

  “All set,” he said. “Where’s the second location?”

  “South of the city, there is a drawbridge on East 100th Street, where it crosses the Calumet River,” the man said. “Pull off on the shoulder just before crossing the bridge and call me back.”

  “Is there another radio station there?” Scoggins asked.

  “A transmitter,” the man said. “Call me when you reach the pull off on 100th Street.”

  The called ended abruptly.

  Scoggins left the building the same way he came in, careful to reconnect the alarms on the way out. He was excited that the job was nearly half-complete. It would be the single largest payday he’d ever had—seventy-five thousand dollars for placing a couple of high-tech listening devices.

  He had already received the first ten thousand and with great timing. He was in over his head with a local loan shark and was about to have to face some unpleasant confrontations. It was almost as if he had an angel on his shoulder—the timing had been perfect.

  He got in his car and drove to the location described by his benefactor. As promised, there was a broad dirt shoulder just before the bridge. He pulled off the road and down to the far edge of the parking area near the river before pulling out his phone and dialing.

  “Okay,” Scoggins said into the phone. “I’m here.”

  “You’ll need to cross under the bridge to get to the transmitter,” the voice on the other end said.

  “You mean I need to go down to the river?” Scoggins asked.

  “Yes,” the man replied. “There's video surveillance at the entrance, so you have to skirt the edge of the river and go under the bridge. You’ll then come up on the other side and move to the building at the base of the transmitter.”

  “If you say so,” Scoggins replied hesitantly.

  He began making his way down to the coarse stone lining the bank of the river. Once there he walked carefully over the granite aggregate toward the base of the drawbridge.

  “Are you certain you aren’t carrying any identifying documents or objects?” the voice said into his ear as he balanced himself on the coarse stone.

  “What? Yes. I’m sure,” he replied, distracted by the sudden drop off in front of him. “Are you sure I can get under the bridge here?” he asked.

  “Certain,” the man replied.

  “Well I’m almost at the end of the stone, and all I see is a concrete wall,” Scoggins said.

  “You’ll have to walk out into the water a ways.”

  “Isn’t there an easier way to do this?” he asked as he stepped to the edge of the stone and placed his feet in the water.

  “If you’d prefer not to do it, you can forgo the remaining payment and we can hire someone else to do the last part of the task.” The booming voice responded in an eerily patronizing tone.

  “No. No, I’ll do it,” he responded quickly as he waded out to his waist. “I just wasn’t prepared to get wet.”

  “Are you in the water now?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” he replied nervously, still unable to see a way around the bridge. “Are you certain I can cross under here?”

  “Where is the device?” the man asked suddenly.

  “It’s on my back,” Scoggins replied.

  “Make sure it doesn’t get wet,” the man said. “Put it on your shoulder.”

  Scoggins did as ordered and adjusted the cylinder in the pouch so it rested on his shoulder. “It’s fine,” Scoggins said.

  “Are you sure?” the man asked. “Put it to your ear and see if you can still hear it humming.”

  Scoggins lifted the device to his ear to listen. He heard nothing, causing him to panic for a moment.

  “Do you hear anything?”

  “No,” he replied, and then suddenly there was a buzzing sound from inside it. “Wait, I hear—”

  Scoggins’s words were cut off by an explosion that spread the upper part of his body across the water. The lower part of his corpse dropped into the water and began to be tugged along by the slow current of the river.

  **

  HARBINGER ended the call he had been on and closed the phone he used to detonate the bomb that Scoggins had so graciously placed next to his head. As soon as the deed was complete, he removed the SIM cards from both phones and pulled his satellite phone from the console next to him. He dialed Heinrich Braun.

  “Braun.”

  “Secure,” Harbinger said before switching over to encrypted communication.

  “You have an update?” Braun asked as soon as the connection went secure.

  “All devices are in place and all loose ends have been tied up,” he said.

  “No problems?” Braun asked.

  “None,” Harbinger replied mildly.

  “Thank you,” Braun said. “You know the schedule. I’ll leave execution in your capable hands.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harbinger replied and ended the call.

  He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Back to the house,” he said to the driver without looking at him. “We can sleep for a few hours.”

  eleven

  Monday, July 26th

  7:25 a.m.—Fairfax, Virginia

  I woke with a start around 7:30 a.m. It took me a moment to realize it had been a knock at the door that had roused me. I grabbed my sweats from the night before and pulled them on as I made my way through the house. I pulled my T-shirt on as I walked down the stairs to the front door. The action of pulling my shirt on made me realize I would be sore today. My shoulder was tight and my head ached with every movement.

  I opened the annoyingly squeaky door and was shocked to find Barb’s dad standing there—Robert Whitney, State Department Attorney and former prisoner of Bosnian Serb mercenaries.

  Well you look pretty healthy to me, I thought. I wonder what Barb told Bonbon to make her think something was wrong?

  He was the man who I discovered two nights earlier, was responsible for preventing Kathrin from contacting me. As soon as I remembered that information, my shock was replaced with anger. I needed to keep it i
n check.

  “Mr. Whitney,” I said coolly. “This is unexpected.”

  “Hi, Scott. May I come in?” he replied. I detected a tone of contrition.

  Hmmmm. Strange, I thought.

  “Sure. Come on in.”

  We came upstairs, and he followed me into the kitchen where I began preparing a pot of coffee. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Defensive before he even starts talking. This is going to be interesting.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked commandingly, hands resting on the surface behind me, chest out, head held level.

  He wouldn’t be getting any shrinking violet here—and he was clearly uncomfortable with my lack of discomfort.

  He cleared his throat before speaking. “I just want you to know—” He shifted uncomfortably. “This is awkward. I need to tell you that Barb had no knowledge of my actions to block Ms. Fuchs’s contact with you. It was all my doing.”

  I said nothing. I stared at him unmoved, letting him know I expected some elaboration.

  “Granted, I did it on her behalf. Which in itself was wholly inappropriate. But again, she knew nothing about it whatsoever,” he continued, and waited to see if I’d respond—I didn’t. “In fact, she had mentioned to me that she was surprised that you hadn’t been contacted by her.”

  “Well…” I said, gathering my thoughts, fighting down the urge to lash into him. “Thanks for the disclosure. I’ll be sure to adjust my thinking accordingly next time I see Barb.” I reached for the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

  “No. Thanks,” he replied. “But I would like to explain my actions.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I replied flippantly. “Your actions and motivations were completely transparent.”

  He pressed his lips together tightly. He wasn’t expecting my response. I suspected he thought I would be so grateful that Barb hadn’t been involved in his efforts that I would instantly forgive her and everything would be hunky dory. He must have expected I would be pissed at him, though.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “Maybe ‘explain’ is the wrong word. But I’m going to speak my piece.”

  I stared at him, unmoved.

  “I saw how that Kathrin girl reacted when you were in the water outside Mimon,” he began and lowered his head. “I saw her running back toward you before the helicopter landed—with no thought for her own safety. She was firing that rifle and screaming your name, doing everything she could to get the Serbs’ attention off of you. She didn’t even wait to see if the sniper’s shot had killed the last one before she was running into the water, screaming your name and crying.”

  I was stunned. I had no idea that had happened. To be honest, it just made me more pissed at Bob Whitney for blocking my access to her. He must have seen the anger in my face.

  “But I also saw Barb,” he continued, looking me firmly in the eye. “The one you came to save. I knew she would never let you go after you went to such extremes to save her. I also knew it had no hope of lasting.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, not fully understanding his meaning. He saw I didn’t get it, so he continued. “Barb would have been plagued with white knight syndrome for the rest of her life if someone else had taken you away from her after that,” he said. “I know it sounds petty and small, but she needed find out on her own what you had become.”

  I could feel anger in my face again, the blood building in my ears and cheeks.

  He shook his head. “You have no need to be angry,” he said, reading my mood perfectly. “Your incredible boldness set you up for changes she wasn’t going to be able to handle. But Barb is tenacious to say the least—and devoted. It would have destroyed her if the man who flew halfway around the world to save her…”

  Damn! I'm starting to feel bad for Barb again.

  He shook his head. “Like I said. I saw how Kathrin charged in to pull you out of the water,” he said and then relaxed his stance a bit. “I watched Barb stand there, stunned by what had happened—unable to move. And I watched the expression on her face change as another woman put herself in harm’s way, overwhelmed by emotion and a need to save you.”

  He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder as I turned my head away from him, momentarily forgetting that I was angry with him.

  “It would have destroyed her,” he said.

  I took a deep breath and looked back into his face, shrugging his hand off my shoulder. “Kathrin saved Barb as well,” I said accusingly. “And you, and the others. She risked her life to help save you all when the government had decided that the ‘hostages’ were no longer the primary mission—and that’s how you repaid her?”

  A pained look crossed his face, followed by a weak smile.

  “Barb is my little girl,” he said with sorrow in his voice. He shook his head. “What choice did I have?”

  It was pointless to offer any alternative suggestions. The damage was done; the facts revealed. Anything else would have been nothing more than a rehashing of the anger I felt—and I wanted this confrontation to end.

  “Thank you for being honest,” I replied mildly. “Even if it was a few months too late.”

  He was done with his apology. I saw his resolve build and a shift took place in his expression. He was about to impart wisdom on me—I braced myself, fighting against another temper tantrum.

  “There is one more thing I’d like to talk to you about,” he said. I could see the tension in his shoulders as he girded himself.

  “Okay. Shoot,” I said.

  I saw a twitch in his cheek.

  “About your activities this weekend with John Temple,” he said, broaching another subject that was clearly sensitive. “I’d like to know what happened in California.”

  I was stunned. What do you have to do with what went down in Burbank?! —unless your name was on that list.

  Don't jump to conclusions based on emotion, my other voice warned.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can neither confirm nor deny any information concerning Agency activities nor can I confirm or deny my involvement in any such actions without specific authorization,” I replied smugly.

  I saw a brief, split-second sneer on his lip. Micro expressions—gotta love ’em.

  “I don’t know if you are aware of the far-reaching ramifications of your actions,” he said, pausing to let his words take some sort of effect on me. They didn’t. I didn’t react.

  “If that’s all, Mr. Whitney, I have to get ready for work,” I said calmly, without expression.

  “That’s not all, Scott,” he said, his tone elevating. He was agitated.

  “I don’t know what else I can say, Bob… I can’t talk about the things you seem to want me to talk about.”

  “Scott,” he said, shifting to a friendlier tone. “There are some things about this incident you aren’t aware of. I’m only going to be able to help you if you cooperate with me.”

  Help me? You’ve helped me enough already.

  I moved away from the counter and toward the stairway leading to the front door. “Thank you for clearing Barb in the matter of Kathrin. I appreciate your frankness. Now I really must ask you to leave so I can get ready for work.”

  His lips went tight and a slight flush appeared on his cheeks. He wasn’t happy, but he seemed resigned to the fact he wouldn’t be able to squeeze any information out of me. He reluctantly moved downstairs, but he turned when he was halfway down.

  “I know this is all a little too much to wrap your head around, especially considering the emotional personal issues,” he said. “But I want to offer this warning before you become too deeply embroiled in something complex and dangerous. There is a fight going on. Not everyone you are dealing with is on the right side. Be careful of who you trust.”

  He stared at me, waiting for a response. When he didn’t get one, he exited the condo and closed the door a little too loudly.

  I went about my business getting ready for work. I actually felt go
od. There seemed to be some emotional closure going on, and it was certainly welcome change.

  **

  When I arrived at the office, I was shocked to see the fishbowl enclosure completely finished. I discovered I couldn’t enter through the secure door on the TravTech side of the office, so I retreated and went back out to the lobby and approached from the other side of the elevators. The glass doors were frosted, so I couldn’t see in. The lettering on the door read, “TravTech—Special Projects Division”.

  “Fancy,” I said aloud. I swiped my badge across the access plate and entered in my code. The lock indicator switched from yellow to green, and I pushed the door open. I was greeted by a reception desk manned by a sharp-looking guy with a military haircut and a black suit.

  “Good morning sir,” the guard said. “Brown” was the name on his name tag.

  “Good morning!” I replied mildly. “Nice setup.”

  “Can I help you, sir?” he asked, his voice crisp and no-nonsense despite the smile on his face.

  “Yep. Scott Wolfe. I’m here to work.”

  “Ah. Mr. Wolfe. Yes, sir. Your biometrics are loaded into the system already, as are those of your team,” he relayed, standing to hand me a folder containing documents and forms. “I’m to inform you that I am not permitted past this reception area unless you specifically require my assistance. And that under no circumstances are there to be any visitors allowed into the secure area unless you or one of your team members escorts them.”

  “Okay then,” I said as I browsed through the contents of the folder.

  “This desk will be manned from 6:00 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. in two shifts until further notice. If anyone requires access outside of those hours, it will require an entry code from you or authorized Agency personnel.”

  “Got it. Thanks…What do I call you?”

  “Officer Brown is fine, sir,” he replied curtly.

  “Okay. Thanks, Officer Brown.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” he said with a stiff smile.

  I placed my hand on the biometric reader. It scanned me followed by a chime sounding and the door unlatching. When I entered I felt like I was in an episode of Space 1999. Smooth, white plastic panels covered the walls that were lined with office doors. Gleaming white tiles had been laid on the floor, and the outside wall, which faced the tech floor of TravTech, was translucent frosted glass all the way to the ceiling. I stopped in front of the glass wall and tried to see into the tech area on the other side. I was unable to even see movement through the glass.