So Dick was alone in the sewage treatment plant, working the evening shift. It was an unusually chilly night for Houston, even in early spring, the temperature had a way of staying constantly hot as the tropical air blew in from the Gulf of Mexico.
Most nights, it was a tedious job. Dick was responsible for making sure that nothing broke throughout the night and to keep the pipes open and flowing.
That usually entailed a walkthrough of the equipment once every couple of hours, but mostly the job was to sit by himself in the control center and monitor the gauges for any pressure spikes which were out of the ordinary.
Dick used it as an opportunity to read comic books, or to watch movies on the small TV he would always bring in for himself. In the three years which he had worked for Josh at the treatment plant, nothing had ever broken or malfunctioned.
It was an easy paycheck, giving him enough to survive on, even if he didn’t live especially extravagantly.
It had started as a typical evening. Dick had been sitting quietly reading a comic book alone in the command center. There wasn’t another soul in the building, but he was used to that. He glanced up on occasion to check the readings, as he had been taught to do a few years back.
But tonight, something was different. One of the gauges in the central pipe unit started to display higher than average pressure readings.
This happened on occasion, so there was nothing to panic about. Usually, he just needed to recalibrate the gauge with his finger. Dick sighed to himself and tapped the indicator, hoping that by doing so he would normalize the pressure.
But it didn’t work. The pressure was steadily mounting, so Dick put down his comic book, threw on his work boots and went to take a look.
He navigated the metal corridors of the plant with bored ease, hearing his boots clank against the grated floor. Over the years he’d gotten used to the dim yellow lights which illuminated the facility at night, one of the cost-saving measures employed by plant management who couldn’t justify replacing all the lights with fluorescent bulbs, since they would have to replace the fixtures entirely to do so.
Anyone who wasn’t used to it would call the sickly yellow glow eerie, haunting. But for Dick, it was merely another routine check.
Arriving at the area where the pressure anomaly was coming from, he put his hands on his bony hips and sighed.
The pump was humming at a faster rate than it should have. There was indeed something wrong with it. Dick’s job, however, was not to fix the pump but to monitor it. He wouldn’t know where to begin on the massive machine anyway.
He diverted the flow of the pipes to the other pumps and shut it off. The great pump whirred at a high soprano pitch before dropping to a baritone as it powered down.
“Shut it down, then check for blockages, got that, Peener?” Josh had instructed him years ago. Sometimes things got stuck.
Dick opened the door to the central area with difficulty, putting all of his frame into twisting the door latch open. He walked into the area where all the pipes converged.
Already he could see that there was some sort of blockage in place. That must have been the cause of the abnormal pressure spike.
Ninety-nine percent of the sewage which flowed through this part of the plant was merely dirty water. Everything else was typically filtered out before then by the mesh grates. But now and then something managed to get by which a technician needed to clear. It was rare, but it happened.
It was going to be a busy night, Dick could tell. He wished that he was back home. His neighbor, Delilah, would be getting home soon and she always liked to flirt with him.
He didn’t know for sure, but he thought that she might have a crush on him. She certainly liked his name, that he knew.
Not many women had ever had a crush on Dick Mitey. With his pixie nose that sloped like a ski jump and ears that stuck out way too far from his head and brown hair which looked like burnt straw sticking out from every which angle, the tall and lanky man wasn’t exactly handsome by traditional standards.
Delilah would be by in the early afternoon tomorrow, most likely. She always came and stole a cup or two of coffee before she went to her job as a dancer.
Dick pushed those thoughts to the back of his head and walked to the central blocked pipe area. There was a big mass in the middle of one of the larger half pipes, which were designed to be open to the air for easy maintenance and testing.
He could see how the problem had started. Whatever this obstruction was, it was too big to be stopped by the mesh grates strategically placed throughout the pipelines. Even now he could see one hitting the side of the open pipe over and over again, barely hanging on as the rest of the metal twisted around in the current.
It was simple enough, in theory. Clear the blockage, restart the pump and go back to reading his comic book. But when Dick got closer, he saw that something was off about this blockage. It was huge and pale and bulbous, like the hippos which he saw on the Discovery Channel from time to time.
Dick had no idea that this moment in time, no different from any of the million other moments before it, would change the rest of his life forever.
He gasped, all thoughts of comic books and flirty neighbors banished from his mind. The blockage wasn’t a blockage at all.
It was a body.
“Oh,” he said. There wasn’t a single thing in the waste technicians field guide which could have prepared him for that.
Chapter Four
“C’mon Charlie, let’s go!” Sarah Nieminen called. Charlie bounded up, his long tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he panted in excitement.
“Good boy!” Sarah encouraged, giving the black and white Border Collie a scratch on the sweet spot right under his left ear as she clipped on a leash with her other hand.
He loved these off-leash dog parks, where he could play with other dogs for hours on end and run at top speed, his ears flapping in the wind.
Afterward, he would be exhausted and would probably decide that the couch was the most comfortable place to crash for the evening.
“You little shit,” Sarah said with affection, patting him on the head as she opened the passenger door of her black Jeep Compass. Charlie hopped up, tail wagging and head tilted as though to say “we can play more now, right?”
Charlie was five years old now and, without a doubt, he was her best friend. She’d gotten him as a puppy and had trained him herself, in between the crazy travel and hours of her job.
Sarah was fortunate to live beside an elderly couple who loved him just as much as she did. When work called her away unexpectedly, she knew that she could count on the Jefferson’s to take care of Charlie, to make sure he was getting the belly rubs that he deserved.
Sarah closed the passenger door carefully and walked around to the other side, checking her messages on her smartphone. She hopped in and started the car as she read.
So far CIA analysts had managed to uncover no critical information surrounding the Black Eagle group which had frightened her target so much.
Whoever they were, they were very good at staying in the shadows. That they were moving weapons suggested that they were arms dealers or a paramilitary organization. Sarah was betting paramilitary, based on the feeling she had in her gut.
Behind her, some obnoxious prick waiting for her spot had decided that she had sat in her running car for too long without moving. The Prius laid on the horn.
Meeeeep. Charlie looked behind, confused by the annoying, high pitched sound.
Sarah rolled her window down and stuck her middle finger out in the air.
Asshole.
Eventually, the Prius got the idea and slunk away in the search for another parking spot.
All of the messages were from work. Mo was telling her to report for briefing immediately.
Sarah sighed. That meant that it was going to be a late night.
“I’m sorry, boy,” she said. “Looks like we’ll have to have our movie date another night.
>
She drove her Border Collie home and dropped him off at the Jefferson’s.
“Well, hullo Charlie!” Said Mr. Jefferson. His hair had turned white with age which contrasted nicely with his dark skin. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?”
“Not sure, Mr. Jefferson,” Sarah said respectfully. “I don’t think too long, though. There’s no travel involved today.”
That in itself was rare. The CIA kept an office in Houston, but the majority of their operations were overseas.
The Jefferson’s didn’t know about her vocation, of course. She had told them that she was a professional firefighter – she put out fires which companies started, which meant a lot of odd hours and travel.
“Here, better pass along that big bag of food you got. We don’t want a hungry Charlie, do we!” Mr. Jefferson chuckled.
“We definitely don’t,” Sarah responded, scratching Charlie’s ears. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”
“I don’t think you know how much it means to us old folk to have someone like Charlie around to brighten up our day,” he responded, closing the door.
Sarah went into her apartment and changed into a pair of stretchy black slacks and a blue tee. She grabbed a black blazer jacket as well, stopping to admire herself for a moment by the mirror.
Her slight frame, athletic and toned from hours at the gym, filled out the outfit nicely. She wanted to look sharp, but professional, and she had nailed it.
She took a moment to put on eyeliner to accentuate her brown eyes before she walked to her safe and took out her service revolver. Sarah strapped the piece along with its holster against the outside of her thigh.
She was ready for whatever the night had in store for her.
#
“Alright, listen up,” Special Agent in Charge Mohammad Al-Azhar barked to the four agents in the briefing room. It was much larger than what they needed, with a huge lacquered pine table dominating much of the real estate. “Rico cut the nonsense.”
Sarah sat in a plush leather office chair towards the front of the room. Natural sunlight filtered in from the north window, it felt warm against her alabaster skin.
“We’ve been getting whispers through the network of a potential op tonight.”
“Wait, someone is planning an op on American soil? Looks like Sarah will have to cancel her date.” Rico said. Sarah rolled her eyes.
“Shut the fuck up Rico,” she responded. “Don’t take it out on me because your bottle of lube always waits up for you.”
Walker laughed. Browne frowned at everyone in the room until it was again quiet.
“It seems that way, yes, in Houston, no less,” Mo replied, stroking his luxurious black beard with distinguished gray streaks.
“But why?” Rico persisted. A glance from Mohammad silenced the agent. Mo had this way of looking at you which commanded respect.
“This is Dimitri Khuldov,” he resumed. “He has been indicted on several counts of murder and other unsavory crimes in his homeland of Russia. He was sentenced but disappeared before his incarceration. Here he is passing through customs with a fake passport.”
Mo flashed an image on the screen of a diminutive Russian man with cruel eyes and a hook nose.
“We do not yet know his motive, although we can speculate that he is here to assassinate someone. He worked as a contract killer for many years, both freelance and with certain Russian mafia groups. It is doubtful that he is working alone.” Mo paused for breath and surveyed the four agents in the room.
“Who is his target?” Connor Browne asked. He was a hulk of a man, barrel-chested with a booming baritone voice.
“A German diplomat has been living in Houston for the better part of a year now,” Mo said softly as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled. “The communique that we intercepted indicates that he is the target.”
The image on the screen flashed to a man with ruddy cheeks and unintelligent eyes.
“He’s a big boy!” Rico said, chuckling from the back of the room.
“Indeed,” Mo replied, locking eyes with Rico for a fraction of a moment. “What is more, Khuldov seems to be linked to the Black Eagle group which Sarah uncovered in her latest trip to Siberia.
Sarah kept her eyes straight ahead on the screen, but she couldn’t stop a slight smile from reaching her lips.
Years ago, Rico and Walker, they would have snickered in the back at the thought of her completing an operation solo, made jokes about her ability to do the job. So many of them were still sexist, she could tell.
But she had earned respect through her blue collar, professional work.
“What’s the name of this diplomat?” Sarah asked.
“Alfred Gunter Katzmann,” Mo replied. “Interestingly enough, it seems that he is a descendant of the Kaisers.”
“You mean the former rulers of Germany?” Walker asked. Mohammad Al-Azhar nodded in reply.
“He will be at a dinner party tonight in North Houston. It is imperative that we do not allow this assassination to proceed.”
Sarah nodded. To have a German official killed on American soil would be an international incident.
“Shouldn’t this be handled by the FBI, Mo?” Browne asked. He was right – the Federal Bureau of Investigation didn’t like it when the CIA stepped on their toes.
“We intercepted the message, so we’re going to take care of it.”
“And we don’t want those untrained pricks to fuck it up,” called Rico from the back. Mohammad stroked his beard. Sarah had known him for years, long enough to read the unspoken signals he was exuding. He was displeased by the outburst, but he agreed with the message.
“So don’t fuck it up,” Mo replied. Sarah sat up in her chair. Hearing Mo swear was like hearing the pope swear.
He was older than the next oldest person in the room by at least twenty years, if not more, and it was no secret that more than a few operatives looked up to him for advice.
This must be an even bigger problem than he’s letting on, she thought. The wheels on wheels thought process of the CIA was often on a need-to-know basis.
What you didn’t know you couldn’t leak, after all, whether it be intentional or through means of torture.
Mo passed out the mission dossiers to the four of us and sat down as he explained each agent’s role.
“Walker. Rico. You’ll be infiltrating the party as servers. Get close to Katzmann, but don’t let on about anything. If there is anything suspicious act immediately, but don’t reveal yourselves unless you have to.”
“Done,” said Rico. He had a cocky streak, but no-one could argue with the results he got.
“Nieminen, Browne. Work the perimeter.”
“Copy,” boomed Browne.
“Copy,” Sarah said.
“Any questions? No?” Mohammad Al-Azhar stood up and looked each of them in the eyes, focusing last on Sarah. She met his intense gaze without faltering. “Dismissed.”
Chapter Five
Dick figured that he should tell someone. After all, a body passing by seemed like a significant enough incident to report. Most importantly, though, if it clogged up the drains which were most definitely not human-sized, there would be hell to pay.
They’d have to shut down the plant for a day, if not more. Somehow Dick doubted that they would compensate the hourly workers for the missed shifts.
The first two times he called he got the voicemail. Not unsurprising given that it was a Friday night. Dick considered leaving it at that, but the thought of all the paperwork that a clogged sewer drain would cause was enough to give it one more try. On the third ring, Josh picked up the phone.
“What?” he asked rather rudely. Pulsatile music was blaring in the background.
Ince Ince Ince Ince Ince Ince Ince Ince. Typically the type of music you hear blaring in clubs or, in Josh’s case, strip clubs.
In the background, someone was telling Josh to get off the phone. The “inces” subsided, ostensibly becau
se Josh walked to a quieter area. Dick explained his unique predicament to his boss.
“Peenanator, is that you?” He asked. “You’ve got to take off the mask, buddy. Can’t hear a thing, you know.”
Dick removed the industrial strength mask he had put on to check out the blockage in the drains.
“We got a problem,” Dick explained to his boss.
“Blocked pipe? Yeah, that comes with the territory, buddy.”
Dick sighed. He had no idea.
“Yeah, but this is bigger than that,” he responded.
Far From Ordinary Page 2
