Hour of Reckoning (Donatella Book 2)

by Demetrius Jackson

  “One of these things is not like the other,” she responded. “On March 24, 1970 in the early morning a politically radical group calling themselves the Weather Underground set off a bomb. This bomb was placed on the pedestal of a famous statue that sat outside the Cleveland Museum of Art. When the bomb detonated, it didn’t destroy the intended artifact, merely damaging it beyond repair. The museum decided that they would not replace the statue and it still sits outside of the museum to this day. That statue –”

  “The Thinker,” Sampson finished.

  “Yes. This is one of the things that’s not like the others. It’s the only one that has been damaged.”

  Marcellous approached a gate being manned by two guards. Donatella rolled down her window and the guard on the right-hand side looked into the window.

  “Agent Dabria. Didn’t expect to see you this evening.”

  “Miles,” she said wincing. “Need to make an emergency departure.”

  “Absolutely. Open the gate and let them pass,” he said to the other man.

  The mechanical arm raised and Marcellous gave SA Dabria an inquisitive look as she rolled the window back in place.

  “You’ll want to make a left at the second row and go to the far end. Hangar 33 is the last one on the right.”

  The trio sat in silence, each for their own reasons, as Marcellous once again followed the provided direction. He was worried out of his mind about his wife and their unborn baby. He was also firm in his stance that they would not be leaving him behind.

  Detective Sampson wondered if this was spiraling out of control and if they needed back up. He damn sure knew he would not let the Special Agent tackle this problem alone, but he worried they didn’t have a game plan.

  Donatella had one thought. One simple unregulated, unflinching thought – Destroy everyone that gets in my way.

  Marcellous pulled the vehicle next to the hangar where two men in pilot attire stood like sentries at the entrance. Donatella, stiff yet motivated, extracted herself from the passenger’s side followed by Sampson and finally Marcellous.

  She eased over to the pilot on the right, “Are we prepared to take off?”

  “Yes, Agent Dabria. The flight plan has been filed and we are free for immediate departure.”

  “Good. Waste no time getting us in the air.”

  Sampson and Marcellous followed in her wake through the entrance into the main areas of the hangar. Inside they saw a Gulfstream G550 awaiting their arrival. Donatella led the trio up the stairs into the cabin of the aircraft. Both Marcellous and Sampson had not been on a private plane before and were struck by the pure opulence that lay before them.

  Two plush leather cream captain’s chairs sat facing each other on the left side. On the right sat a bench with the same upholstery that looked as if it could seat four comfortably. A table with place settings for three sat further back in the cabin next to a drink station that had an assortment of bottled waters, sodas and wine chilling on ice. A TV was mounted on the wall against the back of the entrance.

  Marcellous found that his mouth had involuntarily dropped open and he had to consciously work it closed. He found himself thinking he could never fly commercial again.

  Donatella sat in the chair facing the other two place settings, followed by Sampson and then Marcellous.

  “Gentlemen, I’m not going to tell you you’re not coming on this trip because I know it’s a waste of time. But,” she said wincing in pain, “this will be extremely dangerous.” She turned and lay her piercing hazelnut eyes on Marcellous.

  “I know you want to save your wife, but it does her no good if she’s saved and you’re dead. I’m allowing you to come along only if you play by my rules.”

  Marcellous, steely-eyed, never lost contact with her glare, simply nodded in agreement.

  She turned her head to the left focusing in on Detective Sampson. “Carl, Terri plays for keeps. She has no compunction about killing to get what she wants. If you go along, you will be forced to use your intuition, experience, and gun. There will be death and you will be the arbiter of it or the recipient of it.”

  Sampson involuntarily straightened in his chair and nodded his acquiescence.

  A flight attendant materialized, handing Donatella two capsules and a freshly poured glass of water.

  “Emily, let the captain know we are ready to depart. Once we take flight, we will need a light meal, please see to it that we are served once we level out.”

  Emily agreed and took her leave.

  Donatella popped the capsules into her mouth and chased them with a long drink from her glass. “If we have any chance to succeed,” she said picking up the thread, “we need to have a plan and we are going to need some help. Let’s get started.”

  Chapter 20

  D onatella strode gingerly toward her pending conflict with Terri Buckley. She realized Buckley held all the cards and the plan she devised was a dangerous gamble. From day one, the murder of Samantha Young, Terri has been manipulating events to lead to this moment.

  She stepped on the first step – she would need to immediately hone her senses to the surrounding. Knowing Terri's propensity for surprises, she was sure to encounter her fair share.

  She stepped on the second step – although she was entering the building alone, she had backup and support. She needed to trust that they could perform their task for this gamble to stand a chance. She wasn’t used to working with or trusting a partner since the destruction of her partnership with Buckley. Now, she was entrusting her life with an author, a fellow law enforcement officer, and a computer genius.

  Stepping on the third step – she mentally walked through the gear she carried on her person. Her FBI issued Sig Sauer P226 9mm semiautomatic handgun, slots for two extra clips, her set of 12 Japanese Shinobi throwing knives, and an ASP 21” expandable baton.

  She stepped on the fourth step – when this episode came to its end, she would need to rededicate her focus on tracking down The Syndicate. Her closest link to this shadow organization was Buckley in this cat and mouse game. She needed to keep her alive, at least long enough to extract the needed information.

  She stepped on the fifth step – she worried about the condition of Jasmyn. Marcellous said she was in labor when they arrived at the hospital. Could the baby already be born? Is she even here in this museum? There was only one way to find out.

  She took the sixth step – the landing, at which stood the statue of The Thinker. His legs horribly mangled while he sat in deep contemplation. She looked at him, pondered her mission, and said to herself, stop at nothing to save Jasmyn. If they are in the way, they will be dealt with quickly and efficiently.

  She bypassed the statue and continued her ascent toward the pillars and the south entrance into the museum. Although it was well past closing, Donatella was not surprised to find the entrance to the museum was unlocked.

  She pushed her way into the foyer of the 1916 building, ear tuning and eyes adjusting to the light. The interior of the building was illuminated only by dim light dully shining from the long vertical sconces adorning the walls. She glanced down at her watch – 55 minutes remaining.

  With no patrons in the building, she was sure she could search the entire building in that amount of time; however, the lack of patrons didn’t equate to a lack of formidable foes that were undoubtedly spread throughout the interior.

  Stilling herself, she passed through the foyer into the rotunda. Donatella had to admit to herself that she didn’t know much about art so she dispassionately passed by each piece without giving it a second glance. Furthermore, she had more pressing concerns she needed to deal with at the moment.

  Upon entering the rotunda, the PA came to life. “Agent Dabria, welcome,” came the sharp clip voice of Terri Buckley. “I’ll dispense with the melodrama and get straight to the point. You’ve twice robbed me of the vengeance I rightfully deserve. That prick Smithville deserved what I had planned for him, but you ruined it. And, well – you simp
ly won’t die. So, if you won’t die, then your mental anguish is the next best thing.”

  Her voice deepened in pitch, “I told you that I will destroy everything and everyone you love. Make no mistake, I fully plan to make good on my promise. Now, to why you’re here. The prissy Mrs. Jasmyn Thompson. I must say it was a pleasure getting to know her over the last several months. It’s a shame that after this evening she will – let’s just say forever be changed.”

  Donatella winced inwardly while outwardly balling her fist.

  “As you can guess, she is somewhere in this building. For the moment she, and the baby, are both unharmed. But as I mentioned on our brief call, you are on the clock. And according to my clock you’re now under an hour. I suggest you get moving, but beware of the building and its patrons.”

  The PA went silent. She was effectively on the top floor which logically meant Jasmyn was on the bottom floor. However, Terri likes to go off script. Therefore, she could very well be on the second floor – but certainly not this one. Nonetheless, prudence meant she needed to clear this floor prior to proceeding to the next.

  Donatella turned to the right preparing to go through the Armor Court when a sound emanated from the ceiling. A gate as wide as the entrance began to descend from the ceiling in a slow methodical fashion. She idly thought, guess I’m not meant to go this way. In that same instance, the pathway leading back to the foyer from which she came began spewing a gate from the ceiling. Straight ahead or down the escalator seemed to be the only paths forward. She could see clearly into the room straight ahead which meant the escalator was the only path.

  Donatella stepped onto the escalator heading down to the next level. Undoubtedly, Terri had something planned for her and she would need to stay focused. The movement of the escalator stopped once she was halfway between floors. First thought was a power outage, but this was quickly dismissed as the escalator going in the opposite direction was still moving up. Her next thought was – trap.

  At the bottom of the escalator stood a barrel-chested man with a head two times the size it should be. His eyes and muscles bulged, almost in a strain and he wore a crooked smile across his face. He balled both meat cleavers, placed them against each other and pressed, causing his knuckles to break the cacophonous silence.

  Behind and above her she heard a muffled chuckle. She quickly turned around to see a man standing at the top of the escalator that could have been the twin brother of the man at the bottom. Instead of balling his fist to make his knuckles pop, he took each finger, bent them sideways one by one to generate a cracking sound. She turned back to see that the man at the bottom of the escalator had stepped on the first step.

  The escalator could be heard restarting; however, this time it too was going up. Jolted by its sudden movement, Donatella knew she needed to think quickly. The two burly men had her trapped. She knew she could not take them both on at the same time so without a moment’s more hesitation she decided to become the aggressor.

  She charged down the upward moving escalator toward the man ascending from the bottom. It was clear by the shock that registered on his face that this was not what he expected to happen. As she ran, she quickly calculated her options, high or low.

  High she ran the risk of being caught in midair and being flung like a rag doll. Or she could land awkwardly on the metal teeth of the steps.

  Low she ran the risk of the ape falling on top of her and thus pinning her to the metal stairs until they reached the top. Both options had their downfalls, nonetheless, she must act.

  The moment of indecisiveness from the burly giant at the bottom resulted in his downfall. Donatella leapt into the air raising her knee in time to connect with his nose. The bone gave an audible crunch and she immediately knew the nose was broken. Her momentum carried her another foot forward causing the man to fall over backward while he reached his hand up to cradle his broken nose. This simple, involuntary action meant he could not brace himself for the pending impact as his head cracked on the metal step. A trail of blood immediately oozed from the impact, but she didn’t stand around to admire.

  The other man, frozen in his steps, now had the higher ground and a theoretical advantage. Again, Donatella decided she would press the issue. She turned around and began racing up the escalator. With both the escalator and her momentum headed in the same direction she was gaining more speed than if she were simply running up a flight of stairs. She reached to her belt grasping for her ASP 21” expandable baton.

  In one fluid motion, she removed the baton from its pouch and snapped her wrist parallel to her right leg as it extended on the step. The moment the baton became completely expanded, with as much force as she could muster, she curled the baton upward in an uppercut motion and connected with the chin of the man. The motion that took all of two seconds left little time for the assailant to defend the baton’s arc.

  This rocked him on his feet, but he still stood. Jugular still exposed from the initial blow, she backhanded him in the neck, once across his left temple, and again on the back of the neck as he fell forward – unconscious or dead, it didn’t matter to her. As his body hit the ground, his twins’ body was deposited next to him from the escalator.

  Donatella began to chide herself for not checking the room directly in front of her in the first place. No doubt this is where the man came from and she could have disposed of him first. She retracted the baton, placed it back in its holder and eyeballed the escalators. The one on the left that was originally going up was now going down. She stepped on the escalator and instead of waiting for it to reach the bottom, she took the liberty of running down to the second floor.

  Detective Sampson waited the agreed upon five minutes before he approached the north entrance to the Cleveland Museum of Art. His task was to breach the museum from the opposite side with the expectation that all eyes and attention would be on Donatella.

  During the planning for this infiltration, the trio of Donatella, Detective Sampson, and Marcellous conducted reconnaissance of the museum. They observed the locations for ingress and with the assistance of BJ a plan began to materialize.

  While Donatella and Sampson would operate as the boots on the ground, Marcellous and BJ would operate as their support. Marcellous would act as support for Donatella – a support she knew she didn’t need, but an activity used to keep him safe and out of the way. BJ on the other hand had the more crucial job of guiding Detective Sampson.

  While Donatella and the crew were on the plane making their way to Cleveland, Ohio – BJ was hard at work. He managed to break into the servers at GIS and obtain the plans to retrofit the museum with the updated security system. The plans helped by providing a layout of the museum. Going through the layout he was able to ascertain two probable locations for where they were holding Jasmyn.

  Sampson would be responsible for searching those two locations and at this moment he was on his way to the first one.

  “When you walk through the entrance, your first destination will be around the corner to your left. There doesn’t appear to be any traps along the corridor, but I urge diligence.”

  Sampson nodded his head but kept silent as he pulled open the door to the north entrance. The corridor entrance was wide, cold, and dark. The partitions to aid in the control of traffic had all been moved to one side in the corner. There were a number of seating areas strategically placed, presumably to provide a much-needed rest for the elderly or children just learning to walk. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows circling the area.

  Sampson listened hard but heard nothing. He began to wonder if this was a good thing or a bad thing. A properly planned trap is always silent before its sprung. Exposed in the center of the room, he moved over to the right pressing himself against the wall. He felt better having his flank covered and thus one less concern he needed to deal with.

  He reached the corner, preparing to make a left to his destination but decided to take a look to the right first. There, facing the opposite
direction, was a sentry patrolling. Sampson evaluated the terrain and realized he could not make it to his destination without the sentry being alerted to his position.

  The adversary was roughly 15 feet away and gaining more distance with each step. Sampson decided to make his move. He pulled his gun from his holster as a precaution – if his foe turned before he could make his move, he would put two rounds into his chest.

  Silently, and with haste, Sampson accelerated. The sentry took four more steps and began to pivot on his left heel. Sampson, noticing this deviation, broke into a sprint to cover the remaining distance and with a cobra-like strike, hit the sentry with the butt of the gun across the exposed left temple.

  The crunch of the impact was loud in the empty space and he prayed it didn’t alert anyone else. He stretched out both arms and caught the man as his unconscious body began to cascade to the floor. He dragged the body over against the wall placing him in the shadow overtaking that half of the space.

  Sampson checked to the right, left and behind him for any additional immediate threats. Satisfied by the still in the night, he cautiously stalked forward. After 20 seconds he stood in front of the double doors leading to the ArtLens Gallery. On the left-hand side of the door sat a keypad.

  “BJ, I’m at location Alpha and there is a touchpad awaiting some type of entry.”

  “Touch the display to activate the screen.”

  Sampson placed his hand against the display and a light illuminated from underneath his palm. Moving his hand, he saw a number pad.

  “When you’re ready enter the following digits: 9-7-8-2-7-2-3-0.”

  Sampson quickly inserted the numbers as he heard them through his earpiece. Upon pressing the final number, the words ‘Access Granted’ appeared on the screen and the mechanical lock disengaged. I don’t know who this BJ is, but he is coming in extremely handy, he thought.