by David Spell
Both FCPD officers took a step back at the mention of the President. They had not considered the significance of what they were supposed to be doing.
The FBI agent gave a conciliatory smile. “Look, guys, I know this is not a glamorous assignment, but it’s very important. I don’t know what you’ve heard on the news, but trust me, when the whole story comes out, you’re going to be proud that you were able to be involved.”
“Yes, sir!” the two cops said in unison, moving out of the way so that Burns and McCain could enter.
“I hear that you’re out of a job, too, Chuck,” Sandra said, her voice soft, a sad smile on her face, as she took the big man’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry about that.”
She pushed a button on the side of her bed to raise herself up, grimacing in pain. McCain stood beside her, facing the doorway. Burns sat in the room’s only chair in the corner, allowing the two former CIA agents to talk. He pulled his phone out to check his messages and email.
“Don’t worry about it, ma’am. Kevin and I’ll be fine. We were surprised to hear that you had decided to retire.”
“So was I,” Dunning replied with a chuckle. “I don’t even remember speaking with Sterling. Really, I don’t remember much of anything from those first few days in here. He said that I told him I was ready to move on so I could focus on how to live without the use of my legs. Maybe I did say it, but I was so medicated, I could’ve said anything.”
Chuck reached down, patting her arm. “That’s just not right. What can we do to help you? Kevin and I could, uh, pay the director a visit,” he said, with a wink and a grin.
“You’re a funny man,” she laughed weakly. “No, it’s fine. Retirement actually sounds pretty good and I do have a long road in front of me. Any word on why someone tried to kill me?”
“Not yet,” McCain answered. “I think Agent Burns said that they’re going to try to finally get your statement next week and they’ll update you on the investigation.”
The door opened and a large African-American nurse strolled into the room, taking in the scene. She cleared her throat.
“Time’s up, gentlemen. Ms. Dunning needs to get some…”
Gunfire and screams erupted in the hallway.
Thomas had several emails that needed his immediate attention. He sat back in the comfortable chair, typing out his responses. The FBI agent glanced up at Chuck and Sandra as they talked. It was clear that they genuinely liked and respected each other. As he refocused on the email in front of him, a no-nonsense nurse came in telling the two men that they needed to leave.
At that moment, the sound of a gunshot exploded just outside the room. It was followed by two more rapid-fire shots and then several screams. It took a moment for the loud bangs to register as gunfire for Burns as two figures wearing scrubs burst through the doorway firing their handguns indiscriminately into the hospital room. The nurse was partially blocking the doorway and the first shot fired by the assailants struck her in the back, sending her wailing to the floor. The second bullet, this one from the other attacker, struck the mattress, just below where Sandra was lying.
As Burns reached for his pistol and jumped to his feet, everything seemed to slow down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that McCain had already drawn his Glock, the black pistol extended in front of him, fire leaping from the end of the former cop’s gun. Chuck pulled the trigger four times before Thomas could get his firearm to eye level.
And just like that, it was over. The smell of smoke filled the room as McCain rushed around the bed to stand between it and the doorway in case any other gunmen were lurking nearby.
“Cover me, Burns,” McCain ordered, slowly approaching the two downed assailants.
The wounded nurse groaned loudly, pushing herself further into the room, instinctively trying to get away from the men who had shot her, a blood trail following behind. Thomas moved around the wounded woman, his pistol covering the doorway. Chuck knelt near the unmoving attackers, retrieving their two pistols and sliding them against the wall.
“Corporal Alexander?” Chuck called out the doorway. “Officers? Are you out there?”
A voice answered from down the hallway. “Those officers are hurt. I think they’ve both been shot.”
“I’m gonna take a look,” McCain whispered back to Burns.
The big man did a quick peek out the doorway and then stood.
“We need some help here!” he called down towards the nurses’ station. “I’ve got two officers down and a wounded nurse.”
Burns looked down at their attackers. Chuck had drawn and fired four rounds in less than two seconds, striking both of them in the head. The dead bad guy on the right had taken a round under the nose and a second hollow point had hit him between the eyes. He had collapsed with the upper half of his torso lying in the hallway. The other gunman had been struck below the left eye and in the forehead, collapsing inside the room. Blood pooled around them, turning the white tile floor red. The attackers appeared to be Hispanic and Thomas could see tattoos covering both of their arms.
The two uniformed officers were both clearly dead. The shorter officer had been shot in the neck with arterial blood having sprayed the wall and floor outside Sandra’s room. The corporal had managed to draw his pistol but never got off a round before he was shot in the chest and face. His ballistic vest had protected him against the bullet to the chest, but the other wound had been fatal, his body sprawled grotesquely in the corridor.
“You think the scene is secure, McCain? I’m going to check the nurse.”
“It looks like it was just these two. We need to get some more police here,” Chuck said, swapping the magazine in his gun for a full one and holstering.
Movement to his right caused the big man to draw his pistol again as a uniformed figure rushed off of the elevator. It was a hospital security officer. McCain motioned for him to come down the hall. The older white male froze, his eyes growing wide at the bodies and blood in the corridor. The big man in front of him was wearing civilian clothes but his pistol was visible as he reholstered. The security officer was not armed.
“Who are you? What happened?” the officer asked.
“Call 911,” the man ordered. “There was an attempt on a patient’s life. We’ve got two police officers down and two suspects down.”
The security officer nodded, reaching for his cell phone.
Thomas knelt beside the wounded woman just as two other nurses rushed into the room, slipping on the blood, but managing to stay on their feet. They quickly starting working on their colleague. One of them let the men know that 911 had been called. The FBI agent stood, joining Chuck to check on Dunning. There was no indication that she had been hit, but they did see a fresh hole in the mattress just below where she was lying.
“Are you OK, ma’am?” McCain asked, looking for injuries on his former boss.
“What happened, Chuck? Why are these people trying to kill me?” the sheer terror evident on her pale face.
He glanced at Thomas before answering. “I don’t know, ma’am, but I promise you this: I’m going to make sure that you have people who you know and trust around you from here on out.”
In the chaotic aftermath of the shooting, with medical personnel rushing to render aid and calm the other patients, no one noticed the dark-skinned figure in scrubs slip into the stairwell on the other end of the floor. Musa Khan had stolen an ID card from an Indian doctor two days earlier in the hospital cafeteria, allowing the Pakistani easy access to the ICU floor. Now was the perfect time for him to leave, before the police started arriving and trying to locate witnesses or additional suspects.
He hurried down the stairs, unsure of what had just happened. The two MS13 gang members had done exactly what he had told them to do. They had killed the policemen and rushed into Dunning’s room, guns blazing. Khan had watched them do just that but then several rapid fire shots had rung out and one of the gang members had gone down, partially falling into the hallway, blood pouri
ng out of his head.
A big man armed with a pistol had briefly stepped into the hallway to check on the police officers before stepping back into Dunning’s room. Musa had to assume the other assassin was dead, as well. Maybe they had managed to eliminate the woman before they had been taken out. But who had killed the killers? Who was the armed man at the scene? Khan would head back to his safe house and watch the news. He knew that Sterling and Bashir were not going to be happy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA, Friday, 1600 hours
They had left early the next morning to avoid the crazy DC traffic, arriving after lunch on Friday. Chuck had expected an argument from Elizabeth when he had told her the night before that he was taking her someplace safe. Instead, when she found out that there had been a second attempt on Sandra’s life, Beth was ready to pack up Ray and leave.
Along with the baby’s portable bed, high chair, stroller, diapers, clothes and food, Chuck had also packed both his and his wife’s AR15 rifles. He made sure that Beth was wearing her Glock 19 on her hip before they climbed into his Silverado. The Fairfax County Police Department had confiscated his own mid-size Glock as part of the shooting investigation. Thankfully, he had a well-stocked gun safe and was now wearing a full size 9mm Glock 17 on his left side. Chuck didn’t anticipate any trouble on their trip, but having been attacked once before by a cartel assassination team, he was taking no chances.
McCain’s daughter, Melanie, her husband, Brian, and their daughter, Ashley, lived with Brian’s grandparents on their farm outside of Asheville. Brian was from Hartwell, Georgia, and had fled with Melanie and his parents to the farm during the zombie virus crisis. Asheville was eventually hit hard as infected people had surged up I-26 into the beautiful city. The Mitchell’s farm was fifteen miles west of downtown, however, and had had minimal contact with the walking dead.
The surrounding area had experienced horrific losses. Melanie and Brian had been students at the University of Georgia when the outbreak occurred, both studying to become teachers. While they had not been able to graduate from college, they still found themselves teaching in nearby schools as the community worked to rebuild. Melanie was working with elementary students while Brian was teaching at a combined middle and high school.
The young couple had originally planned on moving back to Georgia after things started getting back to normal. At the same time, when they found out how great the need was in the Asheville area, they decided to stay and help them reestablish their school system. They had also fallen in love with the beautiful farm nestled in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Another plus for Melanie and Brian was that his grandparents were thrilled to help take care of their great-granddaughter, Ashley, while her mom and dad were at work. Brian’s parents had moved back home to Georgia to help rebuild their own community.
At the moment, Chuck lay on his back on the living room floor as little Ray and Ashley climbed all over him, the two toddlers giggling as he tickled them. The little girl called him ‘Papa’ and already had her grandfather wrapped around her little finger. Melanie and Elizabeth sat on the couch talking. Beth was only a few years older than Mel and the two women had become good friends.
“How long can you stay, Daddy?” Mel asked, enjoying watching her daughter laugh with delight.
“If it’s OK, I’ll stick around until Sunday. I’ve got a meeting on Monday that I need to make.”
“Sure! It’s great to have you here. Ashley is loving some time with her Papa.”
FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C., Friday, 1650 hours
The Assistant Special Agent in Charge of Counter Terrorism for the FBI, Thomas Burns, stared down at the notes he had scribbled on the yellow legal pad, oblivious to the agents filing out of his office, four men and one woman. They each oversaw a different aspect of the investigation and had just briefed him on their teams’ progress. He knew that they were doing everything that they could to crack the case, but still did not have much to show for it.
The fingerprints of the two dead gunmen in the hospital returned to MS13 gang members from the DC area. That was an interesting twist. Normally, rival gangs did not work together. The MS13 were not even Mexican, having their roots in Los Angeles with refugees from El Salvador. The dead gangsters had long arrest records, both having served time for violent crimes. Why was the MS13 trying to finish what the New Generation Cartel had started? That was one of the things that his team was trying to figure out.
Burns thought back to the shootout the previous day. McCain had saved both his and Dunning’s lives, the FBI agent was sure of that. I reacted way too slowly, he thought to himself, contemplating his own fifty-three years of age. McCain’s not that much younger than me, but he responded so much faster.
This was the first real action that Burns had seen since that day in Atlanta two years ago when their position was overrun by zombies on one side and attacked by the three Muslim terrorists from the rear. At that time McCain still worked for the CDC Enforcement Unit but he had helped Burns organize their position near the Atlanta Braves stadium just off of I-75, where they had hoped to slow the onslaught of the thousands of infected pushing north out of the city.
The big man had saved his life that day, too, after the G-man had taken an AK-47 bullet to the chest. McCain had slapped a chest seal over the wound and helped control the bleeding until a paramedic had jumped in. It had taken Thomas the better part of a year to recover from that life-threatening wound.
McCain’s reaction time to yesterday’s attack had been spectacular. The former SWAT cop had drawn his pistol from under his untucked polo shirt, putting two shots into each bad guy’s head in around two seconds. He neutralized both attackers before I even realized what was happening, Burns thought. I’m glad he’s one of the good guys.
And what was even more interesting, Thomas realized, was that McCain had completely taken charge, even though he was now just another civilian with a firearms permit. Not that it mattered to Burns. He trusted McCain implicitly and followed his orders until the scene was secure. Before the police had arrived, though, Chuck had let Thomas know in no uncertain terms that he was going to make sure that Sandra was protected from here on out by more competent people.
The former CIA agent had told the FBI agent that he was going to speak with some of the CIA contractors and ask them to provide security for Ms. Dunning. The two men had stepped out into the hallway to discuss the situation.
“McCain, that’s not going to work. You can’t have hired guns for the Agency guarding the former Ops Director. Look, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my first choice to use local cops.”
He lowered his voice as they both glanced at the bloody sheet covered figures lying in the hallway.
Burns continued, “It’s just that we aren’t even close to being back up to full strength after the zombie crisis and I’ve even had to bring in some agents from other offices to help with this investigation. Let me make a phone call and see what I can do to give Ms. Dunning better security.”
In the end, they had reached a compromise. Thomas had been able to obtain the services of four of the FBI’s elite Hostage Rescue Team. This was not the type of mission that the HRT was normally tapped for, but these were not normal circumstances. The compromise involved former CIA employee Shaun Taylor and three other contract employees.
Taylor had readily agreed to be a part of helping protect Ms. Dunning. Chuck had also made contact with Eric Gray, Josh Matthews, and Chris Norris. They, too, had been quick to agree to McCain’s request to sit at the hospital in shifts, making sure their former boss was safe. Chuck promised to pay them for their time, planning on using his own funds. Each of the warriors had laughed and declined any payment. Burns had consented to the additional manpower, under the condition that they only carried their weapons concealed.
Thirty minutes after the shootout, CIA Director Maxwell Sterling showed up at the hospital. Even as the paperwork was being processed for Dunning’s retirement, sh
e had been attacked a second time in the space of a week and a half. His own security team stayed close to the director, not knowing if there were any more threats lurking nearby.
By the time Maxwell arrived, the floor was swarming with uniformed police officers, detectives, FBI agents and CSI officers. Sterling approached Burns in the corridor as he finished a phone call to his own boss at the FBI who was also on the way to the scene. McCain was further down the hallway, also speaking on the phone. He had nodded and smiled at the CIA Director, eliciting a stony glare in response.
“Agent Burns,” Maxwell snapped, looking around the bloody scene and then pointing at McCain, “I thought that I made it clear that that man doesn’t work for the CIA anymore and should be kept away from Ms. Dunning.”
“Mr. Director, I don’t work for you and if Mr. McCain wants to visit his former boss, who also no longer works for your agency, why would I stop him?”
Sterling started to speak, but the FBI agent cut him off, taking a step closer. “Plus, it was McCain who took out those killers,” he said, pointing at the two sheet clad figures lying in the doorway of Dunning’s room. It happened so fast, he probably saved my life, too.”
“That’s fine, well, and good,” Maxwell conceded, taking a step back, “but we don’t need former CIA employees involved in these types of situations. McCain shouldn’t be here.”
Thomas let the silence linger for a moment before answering.
“Mr. Director, do you want Ms. Dunning dead? I just told you that McCain is the only reason that she’s still alive.”
Maxwell took another step backwards, visibly shocked by the question. “Of course not!” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to imply anything else. I’m glad he was able to protect her, but, well, it’s just that since he longer works for us, I don’t know how this is going to look to the public.”
