Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Sounds good.” Kane turned to Isabelle. “How about we both get some rest until something solid shows up. I have a feeling once it does, we’ll have no time for sleep until this thing is over.”

  Isabelle stood up.

  “Agreed. But come stay at my place. It’s only ten minutes from here, and with a virus going around, staying at a public place probably isn’t a great idea.”

  Kane rose from his seat and turned to Hewlett. “You know how to reach us. Call me if anything actionable comes in.”

  “Will do,” said Hewlett, stifling a yawn.

  “And you better get some sleep too,” said Kane with a smile.

  Hewlett nodded, returning the smile as she checked her watch.

  “My replacement is here in ten minutes then I’m getting eight sweet hours.”

  Kane chuckled as Isabelle opened the door. He looked at Hewlett. “If you get eight hours, I’m buying the beer when this is all over.”

  Hewlett closed her eyes for a moment, sighing.

  “I’ll be happy with three. Just three uninterrupted hours in a comfortable bed.”

  “Sweet dreams,” said Kane with a laugh as he stepped outside and closed the door. Isabelle was already climbing into her car, yawning in anticipation of their purpose. Kane strode over to the car and climbed in the passenger side. He put his seatbelt on and closed his eyes as Isabelle pulled out and into the non-existent traffic.

  “This city’s becoming a ghost town.”

  Kane opened his eyes. There were police and military vehicles moving, ambulances and fire, but almost no civilian traffic, the few civilian cars to be seen most likely unmarked cars, or emergency workers on their way to or from their shifts. There were however a few cars here and there that seemed to be driven by terrified people, most likely out on some emergency errand for water or food, their cupboards woefully unprepared for an emergency like this.

  Always be prepared for two weeks of no government services!

  With the crap he had seen around the world, with the number of fanatics inside and outside of the US that he knew about, whenever he made it home to visit his folks he always made sure they were well supplied. He had set up four large storage bins in their basement now containing enough emergency rations, medical supplies and tools, along with cash, silver and gold, batteries, solar and crank chargers, and much more in the event things truly went to shit.

  It was something he felt every American should do. Not just in case some wacko did something, but other things such as power blackouts, hurricanes, viruses, riots. There was no shortage of things that could go wrong that you couldn’t predict or outrun. Sometimes your only choice is to hunker down and wait it out. And being well supplied makes it much more likely you’ll survive doing so.

  They rounded a corner, Kane’s eyes closed again as he prepared himself for the coming sleep, when he felt the car begin to slow.

  “What’s this?” he heard Isabelle mutter.

  Kane opened his eyes and looked. A group of men, it looked like six, were beating on a lone man, his car, a Jaguar, sitting nearby, its driver side door open. Isabelle was about to reach for her radio when Kane stopped her.

  “No point wasting police resources on something like this. Wait here, I’ll take care of it.”

  “What? I’m coming with you.”

  “If things go wrong, come in shooting, but there’s no point in both of us possibly being exposed to the virus.”

  “Fine. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me too!” grinned Kane as he climbed out of the now stopped car. He approached the group, the victim now curled up in a ball on the ground as he protected his stomach and head from further blows.

  “Hey!” yelled Kane as he approached, halting the attack as the group of punks turned to see who had the gall to interrupt their fun.

  “Walk on cracker or you’ll get some of this too,” yelled one of them, apparently the leader, the rest appearing to be at least a few years younger than this one’s twenty years at best. These were street kids taking advantage of the situation.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Kane, circling to the right so the group would turn away from the victim’s car. He knew if he could draw them away the man might be able to make it into his car and get away. Kane pointed at the car. “Don’t you know what kind of car that is? It’s a Jaguar. Don’t you think this poor bastard has enough problems in his life driving that thing? He doesn’t need to get beat up on by you guys to be in misery, he’s a Jag owner!”

  One of the kids laughed, then looked at the glare from the alpha male of the group.

  “You weren’t thinking of stealing his car, were you?” asked Kane, continuing to round the group. “You have to know that the damned thing would break down on you if you got into a chase. Hell, this guy was probably on his way back from the garage getting something fixed when you guys stopped him.”

  Another giggle, another glare.

  “I’ve just about heard enough from you,” said the alpha male. “Get him!” he bravely ordered his young cohorts.

  They rushed forward, giggles and grins gone, gangster sneers carefully painted on their faces. Kane snap kicked the first arrival in the stomach, doubling him over. Kane stepped back, grabbing the second one by the shirt, pulling him with his left hand toward his right, which he used to crush the boy’s windpipe enough to take him out of the game, but not permanently. A roundhouse dropped the third to the pavement, rolling him onto the road, moaning in pain as his two buddies sought their revenge.

  Kane smacked the next one, open palmed on the face, dropping him in a stinging mess of watering eyes as the victim scrambled away to his car.

  Good! Get out of here before they realize what’s happening.

  Kane grabbed the final boy from the initial rush and squeezed him by the throat, lifting him into the air several inches as he applied pressure to the arteries supplying oxygen to the brain. The boy’s eyes began to droop and Kane tossed him to the side.

  The leader stepped forward.

  “Enough’s enough!” he yelled as he reached for something behind him. Kane grabbed his gun tucked into his belt when he noticed the victim hadn’t fled at all, but had instead opened his trunk and retrieved a golf club. He swung at the alpha dog’s legs, nailing him in the side of the knee, sending him screaming to the pavement, his gun clattering to the ground.

  The man then raised his club high in the air, double fisted over the head, then dropped the titanium head hard and fast on the guys back. Kane could have sworn he heard vertebrae shatter as the punk cried out in pain. The others were now starting to get up and Kane pulled his weapon, pointing it at them.

  “Get your asses home. If I see any of you out again, I’ll shoot you first and won’t even bother asking questions.” Nobody moved. “Get!” They scattered, leaving their leader on the ground, crying in pain as the jag owner landed another blow.

  “I think he’s had enough,” said Kane, approaching. The man stopped and looked up at Kane, his face covered in blood and sweat, several prominent cuts on his face, but nothing he wouldn’t survive. “I’d say you should go to a hospital, but with what’s happening, I’d say get your ass home, clean up your wounds, and consider yourself lucky.”

  The man nodded, extending his hand.

  “Fred Newton.”

  Kane holstered his gun.

  “Sorry if I don’t shake hands, what with the virus and you being covered in blood.”

  Newton stood up and laughed, then winced.

  “You’re right, of course.” He stepped over to his trunk and tossed the club inside, closing the lid. “Thanks for stopping, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “No problem. Now I’ll say to you like I said to them. Get home and stay home. Things are going to shit fast.”

  Newton nodded as he climbed into his car, closing the door. He leaned out the window.

  “And by the way. Jags are fantastic cars. I’ll let you get away with it this time si
nce you saved my life, but next time, I’ll force you to drive one!”

  Kane laughed and motioned with his hand for Newton to leave.

  “Get out of here before that thing breaks down and I have to call you a tow.”

  Newton laughed, revving the engine.

  “Thanks again,” he said with a serious expression, then turned and gunned the vehicle into the city streets, hopefully heading home if he knew what was good for him.

  Kane looked at the mess that was the alpha leader lying on the sidewalk, groaning. There was nothing he could do to help him, his spine was most likely shattered. He returned to the car with Isabelle and climbed in.

  “Better call for an ambulance for him.”

  “What should I report? You let the victim go.”

  “Just say we found him like that.”

  Isabelle shrugged her shoulders.

  “Fine by me. It would have been easier if you had let the guy kill him though.”

  Kane nodded his head, but having inflicted enough death in his lifetime, he knew that one Mr. Fred Newton, Jaguar lover, might have felt better for the moment in killing his assailant, but in the long run, would be haunted by it. Instead, he now would go on with his life knowing he had fought his assailant and won, and he most likely would never know what condition he had left the piece of garbage in, other than the fact he was alive.

  Which was far easier to sleep with.

  Kane yawned as the adrenaline rush he was on crashed.

  “Let’s get to your place. I need to sleep, stat.”

  Isabelle echoed the yawn, pulling the car back onto the road.

  “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Kane was asleep before the next turn.

  Morrison Cottage, Dyke, Virginia

  Cheryl Morrison’s head drooped then popped back up, looking around to see if anything had changed, how long she had been asleep unknown. Nothing had. Alexis had cried herself to sleep on the loveseat almost an hour ago, and Charlie stood vigil watching the outdoor cameras in his dad’s office.

  Cheryl had tried to stay awake, but she had to get some rest, even if only for a quick power nap. She pushed herself up from the couch to make sure Charlie was awake. She found him cradling the shotgun in his lap, his eyes glued to the cameras, leaving them only when his hand darted to the large bowl of chips he had poured himself, or the large glass of pop he was nursing.

  “How are you doing?” she asked, walking over and squeezing his shoulders.

  “Good. No action outside.” He looked up over his shoulder at her. “Maybe they won’t come back.”

  “Maybe.” She sighed. “I’m going to get some sleep. Use the alarm to wake me if something happens, or if you get tired, come get me and I’ll take over.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  She gave his shoulders another squeeze then went to the master bedroom, the usual spectacular view blocked by metal screens. It was depressing, but she didn’t have the energy to care. Her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light within seconds.

  The phone rang.

  She woke up, spinning herself so her feet were on the floor almost on instinct. The phone rang again. She reached for it and hit the Talk button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. Mrs. Morrison?”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Deputy Wright from the Greene County Sheriff's Office. We’ve had a report of shots fired in your area. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Her heart was pounding. Their cottage was fairly remote, however it was definitely conceivable that someone heard the shots, especially with the number of shots that were fired.

  “What about the other two with you? Are they okay?”

  “Everyone is fine here, Deputy.”

  Cheryl heard Charlie’s feet pounding on the hardwood floors and he burst into the bedroom as she put a finger to her lips, then covered the mouthpiece.

  “They’re here!” he whispered. “A cop car and two more trucks. At least ten people. Only one cop though.”

  “And what about the people who came to your cottage earlier?”

  Cheryl’s heart slammed into her chest as she stood up, grabbing her weapon and following Charlie back to Leif’s office. Alexis was already there, pointing at the camera angle they needed to see.

  “You mean the ones who tried to kill my daughter, and then us?”

  “I mean the unarmed men you shot and killed in cold blood.”

  “My daughter was attacked by four men in a pickup truck, pursued to our cottage, then they refused to stand down when ordered to. They rushed my position, and I was forced to defend myself. Three were shot, we let one leave.”

  “Mrs. Morrison, I’m well aware of who your husband is, but if you think you can get away with shooting three unarmed people, including my brother, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “I’d like to talk to the Sheriff please.”

  “You can talk to him when you surrender yourselves.”

  Cheryl decided to play dumb.

  “You’re here?”

  “You know very well we’re here, Mrs. Morrison. You’ve got cameras all over the place. I’m asking that you come out now, peacefully, or you will force us to come in and get you.”

  “Deputy Wright, was it? If you can show me a warrant, we’ll come out.”

  Cheryl had no intention of stepping one foot outside these walls, warrant or not, but she needed to get a sense of the situation. A lone cop, brother to one of the dead apparently, with ten of his friends, didn’t sound like any police operation she had ever heard of.

  “I don’t need a warrant, Mrs. Robinson. I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. The bodies are outside and I have a witness. There’s no need for a warrant.”

  He was right of course, but it also meant that no one in town probably officially knew what he was doing. At least if a judge had signed off on something, they might expect “justice” of some sort. Instead, this had all the appearances of a lynch mob.

  “They’re surrounding us,” whispered Charlie, pointing at various cameras showing the men spreading out.

  “If you’re here officially, Deputy, then why are you the only police officer here? Who are the other men with you?”

  “They have all been deputized for this one arrest as we are shorthanded due to the virus scare.”

  Cheryl covered the mouth piece, turning to Charlie.

  “Call your Dad on the other line.”

  “Speed dial one?”

  Cheryl shook her head. “That’s his regular number. Speed dial seven is the emergency number.”

  “I think we’re done talking, Deputy. Have someone from the FBI come here, with credentials I can have verified by my husband, and we’ll surrender. Not before.”

  She ended the call, handing the phone to Alexis, then took the other phone from Charlie.

  “Director Morrison’s office. How can I help you?”

  “This is Cheryl. I need to speak with him immediately.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, he’s with the President. May I assist you?”

  “We are about to be attacked by ten armed men in our cottage. We need help.”

  “One moment please, let me connect you to the extraction team.”

  Extraction team?

  Gunshots suddenly began to ping off the armored windows, echoing throughout the house from all sides. Cheryl instinctively ducked as Alexis yelped and climbed under the desk. Charlie rounded the desk, eyeing the cameras.

  “They’re attacking from all sides!” He pointed at a camera showing the front of the house. “It looks like they’re going to try and pull open the door!”

  Cheryl looked and saw two men pulling a chain from the back of a truck that had pulled within ten feet of their porch.

  If they get inside, we’re dead!

  She grabbed her Glock off the desk and raced for the front of the house, the phone still pressed to her ear. Pulling open the front door, she slid aside the J
udas hole at chest height just as she heard something on the other end of the line.

  “This is Agent White. What is your status?”

  “We’re under attack by at least ten people. We’re surrounded, and they are attempting to pull off the front door.”

  Cheryl looked through the hole and saw the two men climbing the steps, the chain draped across the hood of Alexis’s SUV.

  “Back off!” she yelled through the hole. The two men stopped, then one reached for a gun holstered on his hip. She pointed the weapon through the hole, took aim and fired, dropping the man as the phone clattered to the floor. She got a bead on the second one and decided if she didn’t do it now, she’d be forced to deal with him later, and she might not have the advantage.

  She squeezed the trigger and he dropped.

  Suddenly a hand grabbed the barrel of the gun from outside, somebody having snuck up the front of the house from the side. She cried out and squeezed the trigger. The man yelped in pain and footfalls could be heard retreating along the porch.

  Cheryl closed the Judas hole, then the door, and picked up the phone.

  “Mrs. Morrison, are you there!”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

  “We’re coming to get you. ETA—”

  The phone went dead at the same time as the lights, the generator taking a few seconds to kick in. As the lights came back on, the dull drone of the generator, secured in a concrete bunker with the only entrance from within the cottage, was the only sound she could hear. She held the phone to her ear.

  It was still dead.

  And she had no idea when help would arrive.

  Approaching Morrison Cottage, Dyke, Virginia

  Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson, BD for short, eyed the incredibly young CIA agent leading the mission. Several Delta Force teams, including his Bravo Team, had been seconded to the CIA for domestic missions during the crisis. Rarely did he have to go on a mission on domestic soil, even though Delta were the only branch of the United States military exempt from Posse Comitatus if ordered by the President, and from what Dawson could tell, every branch of the government was operating with no holds barred.