The Mason Walker Bundle 3

by Alex Howell

  Raina knew that Mason assigned her this part of town for her own safety, a fact that gave her the odd sensation of both being somewhat annoyed and somewhat elated. She was always naturally annoyed when men were too overprotective of her, as if they doubted her ability to take care of herself, but at the same time she was overjoyed that Mason could be so caring and considerate for her own personal welfare.

  As usual, when it came to Mason Walker, her feelings were considerably conflicted. At any rate, fancy upper westside neighborhood or not, she had a couple leads to follow. Her GPS tracker told her that one of the suspects she was monitoring in Georgetown had quite a penchant for Georgetown’s flea markets.

  You wouldn’t really expect a terrorist committed to giving his life to such a bloody cause to be concerned with the more temporal aspects of buying and selling material goods, but this seemed to be precisely the case. The suspect’s name was Jamal Roberts. He was actually one of the few suspects besides Tessa Rogers, that didn’t hail from Italy.

  Rather than hailing from Rome, Jamal was a DC native through and through. According to the profile that Raina had built up around her suspect, he was a graduate from DC’s Georgetown Prep, a local prestigious high school. After high school Jamal opted not to go to college and instead had enlisted in the U.S. navy.

  His stint in the navy wouldn’t last however, as he was discharged six months into his service under the vague designation of “medical reasons”. Raina had probed a little bit deeper into the archives and gained access to a more specific rational listed in his military records, which documented the fact that Jamal suffered from both epilepsy and a later diagnosis of bipolar disorder.

  Since returning stateside Jamal bounced around from job to job until finally, he received a vendor’s license and resorted to compensating his partial disability that he received from the military with whatever merchandise he could sell from his shabby little booth at the Georgetown flea market. It was also here that he apparently first ran into recruiters from the militant Catholic extremists who ushered this down and out local into their international terror cell.

  While it is not entirely clear what Jamal’s personal religious convictions may have been prior to crossing paths with the terrorists, according to some that knew him best he went from being a guy with no catholic affiliation, and who rarely went to church of any kind—to a devoted member of a local DC parish known for harboring militant and extreme, right wing viewpoints.

  The church while not officially linked with the terrorists were known sympathizers with far-right views on everything from abortion to military service. But the impetus that got Jamal to start attending mass was apparently a random meeting at the Georgetown flea market in which a shadowy figure Onyx liked to refer to as “Mr. Armani” came over to buy some discounted dress shoes.

  Armani had apparently struck up a conversation with Jamal that had left him speechless. Armani saw that Jamal was a misfit, struggling to find his way in life, and he seized upon that vulnerability to its utmost. And by the time his conversation with Jamal had ended he had made a man who felt like nobody feel like somebody, this was classic terrorist recruitment 101 at work.

  Raina was now tasked with keeping an eye on this poor dupe of the terrorists. She was currently right across from the terror protégé’s stall pretending to be interested in cheap knock off summer dresses. Taking a dress off the rack and putting it up to herself as if gauging whether or not it would fit, in her peripheral vision Raina kept a close on Jamal. She also kept a close ear on him—as she couldn’t help but note the loud catholic populist propaganda that blasted from a radio in his stall.

  Listening to some far-right extremist of the faith prattle on and on about his views, Jamal appeared to be content just stare off in space and absorb the rhetoric, as no customers seemed to be forthcoming at the moment. Wary of the monotony, and unsure of just how many more knock off designer dresses she could pretend to be interested in, Raina sat down on a nearby bench, pulled out her phone and dialed up Mason’s phone number.

  MASONS BASEMENT HQ. Mason was staring once again at his monitor following the GPS movements of Tessa Rogers. All the other members of Onyx had long dispersed, while he remained glued to the screen carefully tracking Tessa’s whereabouts. Mason was a man obsessed, he knew that Tessa somehow held the key, even though a part of him still found it difficult to believe that she had switched sides on him.

  It was these thoughts that dominated Mason Walker’s worried mind when his phone rang. Quickly grabbing the buzzing phone from his desk, Mason answered, “Hello?” He heard Raina on the other end greet him, “Hey Mason? How are things going over there?”

  Mason laughed, “Well—since you left, I have been an absolute mess…”

  Raina laughed, “What? Mason Walker a mess? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Mason chuckled, “Sadly, I’m not. I haven’t left this chair down here for several hours now. In fact, if you would like to get me out of it, you might have to take a giant spatula and flip me out of it like a man-sized hamburger patty, because my ass is fried.”

  Raina laughed, “Mason…you are too much.”

  Mason at risk of sounding needy, then found himself asking, “So when will you be back?”

  To which Raina responded, “Well…. I’m out and about tracking a suspect known to move through DC’s Georgetown district…”

  Mason growing curious asked, “Okay—so where are you at now?”

  Raina sure to keep her voice low in case someone could make out her words above the loud throng of the flea market crowds, responded, “I’m at the Georgetown flea market.”

  Mason inquired, “Flea Market?”

  Raina nodded, “Yeah, one of the guys I’m tracking—he has a booth out here. Selling shoes, knickknacks, and crap like that.”

  Raina then made the inquiry, “Have you found anything out yet on your end?”

  Mason shook his head, No—it’s kind of weird. According to the readout on my GPS Tessa hasn’t made any significant moves in several hours.”

  Raina chuckled, “Ha—maybe she’s sleeping in.”

  Mason muttered, “Right…”

  Raina then noticed that Jamal was finally getting some customers, as a man appeared to ask him about a particular brand of shoes he carried. Raina wishing to listen in, abruptly informed Mason, “Hey Mace—looks like my target has some company here. I’m going to have to let you go so I can keep my eyes peeled.”

  Mason sighed, “Alright—alright. Just please be careful.”

  Raina sincerely touched by his affection, responded, “Ahh… of course Mason. I’m fine. Don’t worry. Love ya. Bye.”

  Mason barely got out, “Love you too….” before he heard the click of Raina’s phone. She was certainly interested in following her leads, he had to give her credit for her due diligence. Raina was always determined to do her best. Before he began dating her, her efforts had always stood out in his mind. He knew that she was thorough and that she didn’t quit until she found results.

  It was just a few minutes after Mason’s call with Raina disconnected that his phone came buzzing to life once again. As his bloodshot eyes focused on the caller ID on his cellphone, he was shocked to read the name, “Hawkeye”. ‘

  Tessa Rogers!’ Mason’s mind all but screamed, wondering what it was that could have prompted this terror suspect to suddenly reach out and call him.

  Not knowing what else to do Mason Walker picked up his phone, and answered the call, “Hello Hawkeye.”

  9

  The Virtues of Good Coffee and Bad Conversation

  MEANWHILE AT A COFFEE SHOP ON THE CAMPUS OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY.

  Clara Walker entered through the doors of the local, Stanford coffee hangout; Cooper’s Coffee, in a complete huff. Run out of her own home by her domineering roommate Karen’s insensitive remarks, she walked several blocks to Cooper’s just to get away for a while. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and agitation.

  But when her ba
rista turned around to take her order, his bright smile managed to cut through the tempest, as he greeted her, “Clara! What a surprise seeing you here!”

  It was Travis Jones a guy she had met the previous semester. She and her old dormmate Serena had actually gone out on a double date with Travis that had proved to be an almost complete disaster. Travis had brought a friend of his along to serve as a kind of blind date for Serena.

  The blind date turned out to be a TA named Mark, whom Clara had had previous negative run-ins with. The guy had in fact been found guilty of altering her grades. After a heated exchange, Serena’s date—and Clara’s sworn enemy—had bailed, leaving a flustered Travis Jones to pick up the pieces.

  Mortified at how the evening had turned out, he had pleaded with Clara to be able to see her again in order to make things right. She told him not to worry about it, and just to call him later. To Clara’s surprise however, the whole summer had gone by without a single phone call.

  Curious as to what he had been up to, she began her inquiry with the most obvious first question, “Travis! So, you work here?”

  Travis nodded and pointing at his nametag grinned, “Yep—these are my new digs. You like it?”

  Clara feeling good to have someone to speak with outside of her roommates, smiled, “Sure. Looks great on you Travis.”

  But all pleasantries aside, Clara couldn’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Travis sighed, “Uh well… you know what? After that fiasco we had with Mark I just thought that you probably didn’t want to see me again. So, I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Clara feeling bad that Travis had blamed himself so much for the previous semester’s drama, was quick to point out, “But it wasn’t your fault…”

  Her recognition of which seemed to clear the air tremendously, because Travis was all smiles as he responded, “Well if you really feel that way—I guess there’s no sense of me beating myself up over it is there?”

  Travis then noticed his manager’s stern gaze out of the corner of his eye, carefully watching him. His manager, a dour faced, middle aged woman dressed in a button downed blouse and kakis, then stepped over to him and noting the line that had started to form behind Clara, ordered Travis, “Mr. Jones, I’ve got plenty of paying customers waiting for coffee, I suggest you put your social life on hold until you clock out.”

  Travis acquiesced to her demands, “Sorry Phyllis—sure thing.”

  He then turned back to Clara and asked her, “Alright Miss Clara, just what would you like to drink today?”

  Clara thought about it for a moment before requesting, “Hmm—how about a Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher?”

  The mention of which made Travis laugh, “Really? With all those special herbs and ingredients that’s very enlightened of you Clara.”

  Clara stuck out her tongue, before announcing, “I know it is.”

  Still chuckling Travis turned to make the drink as he shouted, “Coming up!”

  Seconds later he handed Clara her drink, before he proceeded to get bogged down by all the other customers that began to rush in for their various coffee fixes.

  Clara had barely taken a sip of her beverage when she noticed something written on the side of it. Travis had written her a little note saying, “Glad you’re not mad. Will call you after I get off work.” Followed by a winking smiley face.

  Taking her drink to sit outside the coffee shop, Clara smiled back at the magic marker drawn face on the cup. It was just a small gesture, but it really made her day. She thought to herself, ‘Maybe things are starting to look up after all.’

  BACK IN MASON’S BALTIMORE BASEMENT

  Tessa Rogers had called him up out of the blue and Mason didn’t know what to expect when he answered. Did she know that they were monitoring her every movement? How could she? Thousands of thoughts were rushing through his mind all at once. But Tessa wasn’t one to leave anyone hanging with idle chit chat and she came on the line bold and strong.

  He listened as she chastised him, “Hawkeye? Did you really just call me Hawkeye? Mason you should know better than anyone else that I gave up on that name a long time ago.”

  Prompting Mason to ask, “What was so bad about being Hawkeye that made you give it up?”

  Tessa responded, “Because I got that nickname when I was working for the American system that I gave up.”

  Mason’s stomach churning at the treachery he detected in her voice, asked, “And why did you turn your back on the American system?”

  Tessa responded, “Let’s just say that I’ve had my fill.”

  Mason remarked, “Your fill—your fill of what?”

  Without missing a beat, Tessa shot back, “My fill of injustice, my fill of not ever having accountability in government, my fill of this corrupt system we call a democracy.”

  Mason was absolutely dumbfounded by her demeanor. She seemed like a completely different person. It reminded him of their last encounter when she had pulled a gun on him in what he thought seemed like an almost hypnotized state.

  Back then he rationalized her odd behavior by telling himself that she was somehow under someone else’s control, but now he was not so sure. Perhaps this was just how the new Tessa operated. This wasn’t a simulation—this was the real thing.

  A fact that seemed devastatingly clear when Tessa’s voice moved from a diatribe about the shortcomings of democracy to all out personal taunts. She chided him, “My oh my Mason, just how far you have fallen?”

  Mason grunted into the receiver, “What are you talking about Tessa?”

  Tessa laughed, “Oh nothing—it’s just that in the SEALS we took an oath stating that our loyalty to our fellow SEALS is “beyond reproach” and that we are always ready to “defend those who are unable to defend themselves”.

  Mason was immediately enraged that Tessa of all people—a woman he had risked his life to rescue from the battlefield—dared to question his loyalty. He shouted, “What the hell are you talking about? How am I not defending my teammates?”

  Tessa replied cryptically, “Well—I don’t know Mason, you tell me.”

  She then launched into a full-on accusatory harangue as she demanded, “Who was it that couldn’t even protect his own daughter?”

  Tessa was referring to the time that ex-military extremists had broken into his house when he was away, and taken his daughter hostage. Mason had managed to track down the creeps responsible, and free her, but he had nearly lost everything in the process.

  It was Tessa was originally one of the so-called teammates that had helped him recover Clara from her captors, but she had mysteriously decided to switch sides and turn on him at the last minute. The fact that she had the audacity to bring all of this up now made his blood absolutely boil.

  Mason shouted into the phone, “What the hell are you talking about? I busted my ass to get my daughter back! What else do you want to say Tessa? What’s wrong with you?”

  Tessa snorted, “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you Mason? Because you are forgetting to mention that if it wasn’t for my help, Clara would most likely be six feet under right now.”

  Mason growled, “Tessa…”

  Tessa continued her diatribe however, remarking, “If I didn’t step in to help when I did Clara would have most likely faced a fate worse than death. You nearly lost her, and now you’ve lost your own girlfriend.”

  With Tessa’s last remark that he “lost” his “own girlfriend”, initially not sinking in, Mason began, “Tessa listen to me, if you think—”

  Mason’s worried mind then reeled as the words finally took root, the thought of something bad happening to Raina caused his heart to nearly jump out of his chest as he shouted into the receiver, “Wait a minute—what? I’ve lost my girlfriend? What are you talking about?!”

  Tessa laughing at Mason’s shock, shot back, “You always were a little dense Mason—what do you think I’m talking about?”

  Tessa then ruthlessly informed him, “We j
ust caught your little girlfriend Raina snooping around one of our contacts at the Georgetown flea market.”

  Tessa laughed before continuing, “She acted like she was interested in some knock off Adidas our guy was selling, but instead of getting a pair of sneakers she got hustled behind the stall, tied up, and thrown into the back of a van.”

  Mason had just talked to Raina just a few minutes ago, it all seemed so unbelievable. But he knew that the level of detail that Tessa gave him couldn’t be a coincidence, she described the exactly location Raina was in and the exact flea market vendor she was keeping an eye on.

  His heart sank with the realization that what she told him had to be true. Nevertheless, he tried to show some defiance as he charged, “You’re lying!” but this front was all but shattered when Mason heard Tessa shout, “Alright bitch it’s show time!”

  Followed by the sound of a loud smack and Tessa ripping off what must have been the masking tape that covered Raina’s mouth, followed by Raina crying out in obvious pain.

  Paralyzed with fear, Mason listened in as Tessa ordered Raina, “Okay say hi to your boyfriend!”

  Mason then heard Raina’s unmistakable voice choking through what must have been her own blood, as she struggled to speak, “Mason! Mason help me! I’m being held—!” Raina was no doubt about to tip off Mason as to where she right before the phone disconnected.

  10

  The Nightmare Continues

  OUTSIDE AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF DC.

  Tessa Rogers was in the process of parking a big white utility van by the entrance of an old abandoned warehouse when her passenger, a man named Jamal Roberts suddenly asked, “So what we gonna do with the bitch—kill her?”