Wounded Falcon: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Jesse Jacobson

  “I’m negotiating a surrender with Andrews now, Director Rice,” Felton answered.

  “Bullshit!” Andrews heard Rice scream. “He’s stalling. Hang up that fucking phone and storm the house.”

  “Sir, protocol dictates that . . .”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about protocol,” Rice bellowed. “I’m the director of the F-B-fucking-I and I order you to hang up that phone and take the house . . . NOW!”

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” Felton said. “We’re coming in. Felton out.”

  “No, Tom. Wait!’ screamed Andrews, but the plea went out to dead air. Commander Felton ended the call.

  “This is it,” Rainhorse said, looking out the window. “They are forming into groups with their ballistic riot shields. Snipers are taking position behind the vehicles. The lead man has a battering ram. They are coming in hot.”

  Andrews dialed a number on his phone. It was answered on the first ring.

  “Carlisle?” Andrews called out.

  “Agent Andrews, oh my god, they’re coming in for you now. The director has ordered them to shoot on sight.”

  “Carlisle, there’s a video on YouTube . . .”

  “I watched it,” Carlisle interrupted. “Agent Love called me about it minutes ago. I know Rice is dirty.”

  “You have to show it to Commander Felton,” Andrews urged.

  “I can’t. I’m a rookie. I’m a nobody. They won’t listen.”

  “You have to try,” Andrews pleaded.

  “I’m so sorry, Agent Andrews,” she replied.

  “Carlisle?”

  “There was no answer but Carlisle did not end the call. The line was still open, allowing Andrews to hear what was going on.

  Andrews heard the commander, “When I give the command, storm the house,” he said.

  “Go now!” Rice demanded.

  “Don’t do it, Commander!” Andrews heard a female voice call out. It was Agent Carlisle.

  “Who the hell are you?” Rice demanded to know.

  “Commander Felton,” Carlisle called out, ignoring Rice. “I just got off the phone with Agent Love, who is inside the house. “She directed me to a YouTube video that was just uploaded. You really need to see this before you act.”

  Rice gasped. His eyes flared open and his jaw dropped, “Don’t look at the video, Felton. You have a job to do. Now do it, goddammit.”

  “I’m sorry, Carlisle. I have my orders,” Felton replied.

  “No, stop,” pleaded Carlisle. “Agents Andrews and Love are innocent. The director is trying to cover up the fact that he ordered the assassination of a fellow agent.”

  “That is an outrageous lie!” Rice screamed. “Get this bitch out of here.”

  “Why would she risk her job to lie for Andrews?” Felton asked.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Rice shrieked.

  “You saw this video?” Felton asked Carlisle.

  “I did. Look at it, Commander,” Carlisle replied.

  “Do not look at that video, Commander. That’s an order!” barked Rice.

  Felton paused. He looked at Rice, then at Carlisle. Finally, he looked at Rice one last time. There was disdain in his expression. He raised his bullhorn.

  “Everyone!” Felton barked through the bullhorn. “Stand down. Repeat. Stand down.”

  Rice grabbed the bullhorn from Felton and barked a command through it, “This is FBI Director Rice. I am assuming command. Everyone . . . storm the house . . . now! Shoot on sight. Repeat, shoot on sight.”

  No one moved.

  “That is an order!” Rice repeated, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “Storm the house.”

  Again, no one moved.

  Felton ripped the bullhorn from Rice’s hands, “These are my men. I trained them. They move at my command, not yours. Step back, Director Rice. Step back now.”

  Felton took the cell phone from Carlisle.

  “Felton, I’ll have your ass for this,” Rice threatened.

  “Director Rice, that may be, but for right now, I am in command of this scene. Please remain quiet or I’ll have you removed.”

  “How dare you!” Rice screamed. “I’ll have your job . . .”

  “Casey, Frank,” Felton barked out. “Please escort the director to a safe area away from the immediate scene.”

  “Don’t you touch me,” Rice screamed.

  “Move him by force if you need to,” Felton added.

  There was a brief pause as Felton looked at the video on Carlisle’s phone. Two minutes later, Andrews’ phone beeped. It was Felton. He hit a button to terminate the connection with Carlisle and accepted Felton’s call, “Jim, you still there?”

  “I am,” Andrews replied.

  “I’m asking my men to stand down while I sort this out. Keep your phone on and stand by.”

  “Roger that, Tom, and thank you,” Andrews said.

  “Don’t thank me just yet. I’ll be in touch.”

  Andrews hung up and looked at Rainhorse and Swede.

  “Well?” Rainhorse asked.

  “It’s my turn to save you,” Andrews replied. “While I was digging around for something to eat, I found something very interesting in the pantry.”

  “It’s a hidden crawl space,” Swede said. “I’ve seen it before. It’s rather genius if I say so myself. The entire pantry shelf acts as a sliding door. No one will find it.”

  “You think it will fool the FBI,” Rainhorse asked.

  “The FBI is expecting to find Love and I,” Andrews interjected. “If they were convinced someone else was in here, yes, they would find it, but they think there’s just two of us. We are now the good guys, remember? They’ll give the place a cursory sweep, that’s all. You’ll be safe.”

  “I do not like the idea of leaving you alone,” he said. “We are in this together.”

  “I appreciate that, Rain, I do,” Andrews said, “but you’d be doing us a favor. Your presence complicates things. You might get tied to Alt’s disappearance. Better for you to disappear.”

  “He’s right,” Swede said, “And my presence will definitely complicate matters.”

  Rainhorse thought for a second and nodded, “Show us this . . . pantry.”

  Chapter 22

  TWENTY-THREE MINUTES LATER

  “Do you think your bonehead idea will work?” Love asked. “The SWAT team is not made up of dummies. If they find Rainhorse and Swede here . . . hiding, you know how it’ll look.”

  “This will work,” Andrews said. “We’ll get arrested but they know it’s a formality. They know we were set up. They won’t be looking hard. Trust me.”

  “Famous last words,” Love said.

  “I know. Turn on the television,” Andrews urged. “The story just hit the CNN website.”

  Julie Love grabbed the remote and turned on the television. She hit the guide and found CNN, quickly switching to the channel. She heard a female broadcaster reporting.

  “Once again, for those who’ve just joined us, the FBI has cornered two terrorist suspects in a small house in the Houston suburb of Sugarland. The suspects are considered armed and dangerous.”

  “This is bullshit,” Love spouted. “They still think we are terrorists.”

  “Wait for it,” Andrews insisted.

  Right on cue, the broadcaster paused and touched her earpiece and paused momentarily, “Pardon me. I am just getting word that a video file has been sent to us regarding this situation. Our station manager is reviewing the file now. Joining me is former FBI Agent and CNN analyst, Mark Summerfield. Mark, what can you tell us about this video?”

  The camera switched to a white-haired man in his early sixties, “Amy, I just viewed this video and the information is nothing short of shocking. The video is of a man who appears to be FBI Director Rice speaking with Barnabas Quince, the now-deceased criminal who attempted to set off a nuclear device in Seattle. The video shows Rice clearly ordering the illegal assassination of a fellow FBI agent.”

  “
Is there any chance this video had been doctored?” the broadcaster asked.

  “That has yet to be determined,” Summerfield replied. “What I’m also being told is that the video has been uploaded to multiple internet sites. It could be in the hundreds.”

  “For what purpose?” the broadcaster asked.

  Summerfield frowned, “Whoever did it knows what they are doing,” Summerfield replied. “If that video is shared to a hundred sites, each one of those sites can share it dozens of times over. That doesn’t account for all the downloads onto private servers. That video can never be wiped completely off the internet.”

  “What does the video have to do with what we are seeing in Houston?” the broadcaster asked.

  “Unknown at this time. What we do know is that Director Rice is on hand at the scene where the SWAT team is set to bear down on the occupants of the house, so we might assume that he has some personal interest in . . .”

  The broadcaster touched her ear piece again and interrupted, “I’m sorry, Mr. Summerfield. We interrupt to bring this special report to you from our correspondent, Stacy Kaye, who is on site at the scene in Houston. Stacy, what can you tell us?”

  The camera switched to a professionally dressed black female news reporter.

  “It is chaos in Sugarland, Amy,” Stacy said. “A second SWAT team has arrived on the scene. This one is from Homeland Security. They have just taken Director Rice into custody.”

  “Please repeat that, Stacy,” the broadcaster insisted. “Did you say Homeland Security just took FBI Director Rice into custody?”

  “Yes, it happened right in front of us,” Stacy replied.

  “Was this to protect him, perhaps?”

  “Not unless they needed to place him in handcuffs to protect him,” Stacy replied.

  “What about the people in the house?” Amy asked.

  Andrews’ phone rang. He looked at the display screen; it was SWAT Commander Tom Felton. Andrews switched off the set.

  “Tom,” Andrews answered. “I’m watching the news now.”

  “I’m coming to the door now,” he said. “Let me in.”

  “Just you?”

  “With me will be Ian Smith, from the Attorney General’s office.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, but I can now guarantee your safety.”

  “Come on in. I’ll unlock the door.”

  “Do you have coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I need coffee.”

  Andrews hung up and looked at Love, “Follow my lead,” he said.

  Love nodded.

  Four minutes later SWAT Commander Tom Felton and Ian Smith from the Attorney General’s office, sat at the kitchen table with Agents Love and Andrews.

  “This has been quite some morning,” Felton commented.

  “How bad are things out there?” Andrews asked.

  “Bad. Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No. Just Agent Love and I. Why do you ask?”

  “Director Rice seemed to think there was at least one other person in the house, perhaps two . . . helping you.”

  “No, just us,” Love insisted.

  “Good, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take a look around. You mind?”

  Andrews shrugged, “Go ahead.”

  Felton grabbed the microphone on his shoulder and depressed the talk button, “Evans. Send one man into the attic and crawlspace under the house. I’m searching the interior.”

  “Roger that,” came the reply.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Smith said, standing. He began walking through the house.

  “How about that coffee?” Felton asked.

  “Sure,” Andrews said. He stood, pulled a cup from the cupboard and poured a cup. He handed it to Felton. He pulled the last packet of artificial sweetener from a small container sitting on the table.”

  “You have any more of this pink stuff?” he asked.

  “Pink stuff?” Love repeated.

  “You know . . . fake sugar.”

  “Uh . . . No, I don’t think so,” Love responded.

  “Mind if I look myself?” he said.

  “Suit yourself,” Andrews said, calmly.

  Felton stood and walked into the kitchen, opening the drawers next to the stove.

  “Damn, nothing here,” he said. “Ah . . . the pantry.”

  “There’s nothing in the pantry, I know,” Love insisted, carefully hiding her stress, which was rising off the chart. “I was just looking in there this morning.”

  “Maybe you overlooked it,” Felton said, opening the pantry door. He began moving items around.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “This is puzzling.”

  Love flashed Andrews a look of panic. He could tell from the position of Felton’s body that the SWAT commander was seconds away from stumbling onto the secret door to the hidden space where Rainhorse and Swede were.

  “Well, well, well, would you look at what we have here,” Felton said.

  Andrews took in a breath and held it as Felton pulled out a pink box, “There’s a whole unopened box of the pink stuff.”

  Andrews smiled, “Glad you’re happy.”

  Smith reappeared at that same moment, “All clear,” he said.

  “Good.” Felton used his microphone, “Evans? Find anything?”

  “All clear,” came the electronic reply.

  “Clear inside, too. Send all the gunner’s home.”

  “Roger that. Standing by.”

  “So, you’re going to arrest us?” Love asked.

  Smith nodded, “I’m afraid so. I’ll need you to surrender any weapons you may have.”

  “Our service weapons are on the counter,” Andrews said, “Clips out. No bullet in the chamber.”

  Felton glanced at the counter, “That’s it?”

  Love nodded, “That’s it. Want to search me?”

  Felton looked at her and smiled, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You two are the good guys. It’s just protocol, you know.”

  “I understand,” Andrews said.

  “So, you watched the video?” Love asked.

  Felton nodded, “We saw the video. The Attorney General saw it too, on YouTube.” He chuckled, “That’s why Homeland swooped in. Smith placed Rice under immediate arrest. My understanding is they’ve already arrested Kelsey, too.”

  “Then why arrest us?” Love asked.

  “Again, protocol. We know there was a pending investigation against Andrews, and yet the investigator seems pretty chummy with the person she’s investigating. We don’t know how you obtained the video or uploaded it. We also don’t know why a six-year-old video has just now come to light. There’s the matter of resisting arrest today, and then there is the more serious issue.”

  “Which is?” Andrews asked.

  “Director Rice believes Agent Love murdered his security guy, Greg Alt. It seems he hasn’t been heard from since yesterday morning.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Andrews replied.

  “Personally, I know the bastard and I think the world would be a better place without him, but . . .”

  “He’s probably just on the run . . .”

  “Don’t say anything, Jim,” Love said. “Let’s lawyer up and let the cards fall where they may.”

  Ten minutes later Agents Andrews and Love were arrested, handcuffed and led to separate vehicles. The SWAT team swept the house. They spent nearly all their time confiscating the computer related equipment. They taped off the scene and left three hours later.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes after the SWAT team left, Rainhorse and Swede emerged from the hidden space cleverly hidden behind the cupboard in the pantry.

  “It was a bit cramped in there, Rain,” Swede noted. “Maybe you should think about losing a couple of pounds.”

  Rainhorse raised his eyebrows, “My body fat is less than ten percent.”

  “Well, lose some muscles then, will ya?”
/>   “This advice coming from a man who chooses to use an entire bottle of cologne in the mornings.”

  “Hey, it’s Old Spice—good shit.”

  “The hidden space worked well,” Rainhorse said, changing the subject.

  “When Hank Patterson designs a Brotherhood safe house, he really makes it safe,” Swede said. “So, we are both free and clear.”

  “You are, for sure,” Rainhorse said. “No one will ever know you were part of this. Best to keep it that way.”

  “What about you?”

  “It remains to be seen,” he said. “Andrews and Love will have a lot of explaining to do. It is going to be a huge mess. They may have to bring me into it.”

  “Won’t you go back to jail?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “If it happens, I will deal with it.”

  “You mean, you’ll disappear into thin air?”

  “I have done it before . . . several times, in fact.”

  Swede stuck out his hand, “Good seeing you, Rain.”

  Rainhorse shook his hand, “Thank you for everything you have done.”

  “Where are you going from here?” Swede asked.

  “I have to deal with one last thing,” Rainhorse said.

  Swede exhaled and held his hands up, palms out, “I don’t want to know about it.”

  Chapter 23

  Rainhorse knocked on the door of a countryside farmhouse just a few miles outside of Needville, Texas, forty-miles south of Houston. Ellie Limberhand answered the door with a smile.

  “I didn’t expect you so soon,” Ellie said, giving her old friend a warm hug.

  “Me either, to be perfectly honest,” Rainhorse replied. “How is our friend doing?”

  “He’s rather calm and sedate for the moment,” Ellie said. “He’s been a real handful, though. He is one pissed-off hombre.”

  Rainhorse nodded, “Thank you for everything you’ve done. You have saved my bacon once again. Now, I must make sure the people I saved, are truly saved. Is Alt wearing a bag over his head.”

  “He is and he’s not happy about it,” Ellie replied. “He’s all comfy, tied up to a chair.”

  “Good. Is there a television in the room?”

  “Yes, when you called ahead, I put CNN on. He can’t see the set but he’s been listening to coverage of the event on the news for about an hour now.”