by Karin Tabke
“All secure,” he miked to the driver.
Over the bus radio, the driver said, “Transport fifty-two, 10-49 Jessup Women’s Facility with seven on board, starting mileage, 24,766.”
“10-4, T-fifty-two, starting 24,766 at 1517 hours,” Dispatch cleared.
The bus lurched forward and so did Angela’s life.
Two
The bus slammed to an abrupt halt. Angela’s eyes flew open, and immediately her intuition told her something was wrong. She jerked her head back and craned her neck, staring at Brinks through narrowed eyes. He grinned.
Sonofabitch!
“What the hell are you doing?” she quietly demanded.
“What’s the problem?” Brinks miked to the driver as he looked over his shoulder behind the bus. Angela craned her neck farther around, straining her muscles to look in the same direction. A black panel van idled several feet behind them. Brinks gave a shallow nod to the van’s driver and received the same gesture in return. Then he turned back, giving the bus driver all of his attention.
Scenarios careened in Angela’s brain. A breakout? Hostages? She looked up at the driver. His head moved back and forth as he leaned forward over the steering wheel in an attempt to see what was causing the delay. Angela scooted as far to the edge of her seat as she could. A new fear treaded disruptively across her tightly held composure. She did not want to die. Keep your cool, Ange.
“Looks like a backup ahead. Traffic’s at a standstill,” the bus driver miked back.
Angela and Brinks turned at the sound of the van door opening behind them. Brinks gave the all clear sign to the two men who emerged from the van, completely blacked out head to toe.
“What the hell’s going on?” Angela hoarsely demanded. Brinks ignored her and set the shotgun down butt first against the rear emergency door. With all eyes forward except hers, he pulled up his right pant leg and grabbed a small canister strapped there.
Angela watched in shock and awe as he pulled it out with his right hand and, with his left, pulled the pin.
“Bomb!” Angela screamed to get the driver’s attention. The driver jerked around in his seat, his eyes on Brinks, who remained unflappable. Brinks unlocked the security door and rolled the bomb down the aisle to the main passenger area. Angela shoved her head between her knees and braced for impact. Just as it exploded with a bang and she realized she hadn’t caught any shrapnel, she popped up in her seat, only to be stayed by her shackles. Frustrated by her inability to react, she glanced at the cage. Brinks turned, pulled down the back of the jump seat, and extracted a hidden gas mask, which he quickly placed over his face. The hiss of the released noxious gas infiltrated her senses. Ignoring the screams of the passengers and the driver’s frantic calls, Brinks turned to Angela. Dreadful realization grabbed hold of her and would not let go. She was the target. Holy hell, her face would be splattered on every post office wall from here to California.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded as she was overcome with a fit of coughs.
He grinned under the mask and said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Wildly, Angela scanned the perimeter of the bus. The driver was down and she could see only the slumped shoulders of the other passengers. Brinks opened the rear emergency door, where the two masked men now stood. After opening the security door to his cage, he entered the passenger compartment as smoke billowed out the open door. He hurried toward Angela, who tried holding her breath to stave off the fumes of the sleeping gas. The dark hole of unconsciousness shimmered on the fringes of her mind. As Brinks bent to unshackle her, Angela was powerless to stop him. Her last conscious thought was of him slinging her limp body over his hard shoulder.
Slowly, consciousness filtered into Angela’s muddled brain. Her head pounded, her back screamed in pain, and her mouth was desert dry. She could barely draw in a deep breath without feeling smothered. Slowly, her senses returned. She was sitting, but her body felt heavy and stiff, as if it had been in the same position too long. Her chin rested against her chest, but as she tried to raise it, it wobbled. Her head bobbed back down.
Although her eyes fluttered open to see, everything was black.
What the hell?
Lifting her arms and shifting her weight, she realized she was still shackled and cuffed. Her head pounded and her aching body strained against the steel handcuffs.
In one bright sunburst of clarity, Angela realized she was hooded and sitting upright in a chair. A chair she was tied to!
Her last conscious thoughts came crashing down around her. The transport, that guard, Bricker—Brinks! The bus stopping, the sleeping gas, then . . . nothing. Until now. Where the hell was she?
She caught her breath, the fabric of the hood sucking into her mouth. She spit it out, wrestled her rising panic down, and listened.
Silence.
The air around her was heavy, but alive. She could feel life forces surrounding her, watching, listening, and waiting. She lifted her head once again, and this time she was able to maintain her position. Her vision was now clearing but still in the dark. “Take this goddamn bag off my head,” she demanded.
“I told you she had a foul mouth.”
Brinks.
“Fuck you, Brinks. Is your dick so small you have to hood your next victim?”
Several amused snorts swirled around her.
“I see, you have friends with small dicks too.” She strained against the chains. “Go on, get it over with,” she challenged. Even as she said the words, she tried not to imagine what a rabbit would feel like when a pack of pit bulls tore it apart. She squeezed her eyes shut and knew she could not emotionally handle another assault, especially a gang rape. “Just do it,” she whispered, steeling herself.
“You’re in a secure place and among friendlies,” Brinks levelly said.
Her head snapped back, and she smirked under the hood. “Friendlies don’t bag and tie one another up unless they’re both into the same kinky shit, and frankly, boys, I’m not feeling wet between the legs, so what the hell’s going on?”
“You have an impressive service record, Officer Giacomelli,” a deep voice said from the two o’clock position. “Two unit citations, several commendations and a nomination for the Medal of Valor.”
“What of it?” Angela challenged.
“Then there are the three officer-involved shootings and the seven IAs. You’ve been busy for just eight years on the job. How is it, Officer, that you have three fatal shootings in the last three years when most career officers never pull their service weapons?”
“Three righteous shootings of deadbeat scumbags that left me no choice, that’s how.” She leaned forward so that the rope tied around her chest bit into her breast. She didn’t wince but pressed harder. The pain diffused her fear. “Since we both know so much about my career, let’s skip the flattery. Who are you, what do you want, and where the hell am I?”
“All in good time,” the deep voice responded. He paused for nearly a full minute before he continued. “You seem to have a problem with authority.” The soft click of fingers on a keyboard preceded his next words. “I see that although you’re qualified and your test scores are quite high, you’ve been passed over twice for promotion. A notation in your file states, ‘Officer Giacomelli has strong leadership qualities so long as she’s the one leading. She fails to take directives when she disagrees with the direction ordered.’”
Angela shrugged. The reasons didn’t matter now.
“Are you simply contrary for the hell of it, or is there a just cause in your mind for failure to follow a superior’s orders?”
“I’m not following an asshole to hell just because he’s got the rank.” She sat back, glad for the relief. “Can we dispense with the ancient history lesson and get this bag off my head?”
“Your file indicates a hot temper.”
“Free me, dismiss your looky-loos and I’ ll be happy to show you just how hot.” Several of those looky-loos laughed aloud.
“I hear the rest of you. Go fuck yourselves.”
“A piece of work, that Montes business,” another deep voice said, this one from behind her.
Angela twisted in the chair but was hampered by the bindings. She turned back to the one that seemed to know so much about her. “Is that what this is all about? I thought I was going to Jessup, not Gitmo.”
“You’re in neither,” the first voice said. “You’ re a smart cop, Giacomelli. Why did you let yourself get caught?”
“Poor planning?” she shot back.
“Indeed. Had you been a little more precise after you executed Carlos Montes, chances are you would be on the streets of Baltimore City as we speak.”
“Yeah, but I’m not, so let’s get to the reason you invited me to your little party. Are you going to kill me? Get to it if you are.”
“We have no intention of causing you any bodily harm, Officer Giacomelli,” the voice behind her said.
She turned slightly to direct her comeback to him personally. “If you check your notes there, Einstein, you’ ll see I got fired. That means I’m no longer a cop, so cut the ‘officer’ crap.”
“How would you like to be returned to your peace officer status?” he softly asked.
Stunned by his question, Angela sat silent for a long minute. What the hell was this? Some form of torture? Pretend to give the prisoner everything, then snatch it away and make them willing to give up anything to have it? Problem was, she had nothing they wanted. “People in hell would probably like ice water, and they’re more likely to get it than I am of returning to BCPD.”
“I didn’t say anything about Baltimore City PD. How would you like an opportunity to continue putting bad people, very bad people, away? A chance to work for the law but just slightly outside of it? On the fringe, so to speak.”
She was done as a cop. She’d lost all faith in that brotherhood. If she was going to go at anything, it would have to be alone, no outside or inside interference, and even on her terms, she wasn’t sure she had it in her. She was too fucked up. She didn’t want to be a part of anyone’s personal tragedies anymore. She needed time to heal herself, otherwise how the hell could she help a victim? But the flip side was, numb was good—it kept her emotions out of the equation, and it made life easier. And what they were offering was a hell of a lot more appealing than an eight-by-eight-foot cell at Jessup. “I’m listening.”
The scrape of a chair moving backward and the soft rustle of fabric as the man behind her stood alerted her. She could smell him. Clean and spicy. The soft swish of his leather-soled shoes as he walked around her gave her his position. She followed him with the turn of her head. When he stopped directly in front of her, she could feel his body heat. She tilted her head back and looked directly up at him, wishing she could see him through the dark fabric.
“You have two choices, Angela Giacomelli: We can return you to face your sentence and a very small cell to call your own for the next twenty plus years, or you can come to work for us. Your record and conviction would still stand, and at any time you could be made to serve out that sentence. Any time you get out of line, disobey an order or find yourself in any other kind of trouble, it’s fuck-you-very-much and you’re on your way.”
“What the hell kind of deal is that? I get to be your slave or else?”
“It’s a deal that gives you back your freedom, or most of it, anyway. It’s a deal that gets you out of your cell and allows you to continue working for the right reasons and the right people. It’s a deal that in thirty seconds will be taken off the table. It’s a free country, Officer, but not always a just one.”
“I’m a fugitive in the eyes of the law! Where would I live? How would I make a living? How the hell can I do anything if I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for a damn marshall?”
“Let’s not sweat the small stuff, Officer. Our organization does not make any move unless it is completely vetted. Yes, in the eyes of the law you are a fugitive, a fugitive who broke out with the help of some friends, a fugitive who on paper can easily appear to be deceased. A hazard of her escape, if you will.” He paused, then said, “You now have fifteen seconds to accept or reject my offer.”
The room fell deadly quiet, and as each second ticked off, Angela’s heart thumped with it. She could feel every eye in the room on her, waiting, wanting her to throw her lot in with them. And why not? What the hell did she have to lose? And while she knew it couldn’t be this simple, because nothing in her life ever was, she nodded and said, “I’m in. Now take this fucking bag off my head!”
Three
The first person she saw was Brinks. He no longer wore the correction officer uniform; now he was casually clad in dark slacks and a gray pullover sweater. He stood to the right of her, looking at her as if he couldn’t decide whether she disgusted him or he should feel sorry for her. When she cast her gaze around the room, her nerves tightened, and she drew herself up. The others, all men, all devoid of emotion, all big, all looking like the definition of badass, nine in total, sat behind a huge round table watching her. And just like Brinks, they were the silent, hard-ass type with an air of arrogance that she wanted to slap off their handsome faces.
She felt like an organism under a microscope the way she was surrounded by all of them. Her, alone on a chair, inside a huge round table, them on the other side facing her. Only Brinks, who stood to the right side of her, was remotely aligned with her. Her heart thudded like a steam engine in her chest. But although they were all tough-as-steel looking, and could squeeze the life out of her with one hand, she didn’t feel threatened. She looked past them to several black flat-screen monitors that covered three of the four walls. In her peripheral vision, she could see more. Along the right-hand wall, shiny black floor-to-ceiling cabinets. Above the oversized windowless metal door, painted in stark black, the symbol of the mythical phoenix. Who were these guys?
“What is this, the modern-day version of the Knights of the Round Table?” She laughed at the absurdity of it. But she was the only person in the room who found humor in her jibe. The men sat stone-faced, intently watching her.
“Officer Giacomelli.” The deep voice got louder as its source came from behind her, walking the periphery of the table until he stood across from her, the table between them. He stood with his hands behind his back, rigid and ominous, dressed in black from head to toe. The button-down shirt and black slacks did nothing to hide the muscles beneath. Her gaze dipped to the floor and she could just see his size 14s peeking at her from beneath the table. When her gaze traveled back up to his face, she found it hard and unyielding. Angela’s eyes widened. Brinks was big and he was bad, but this guy, he was . . . her skin shivered. His frosty blue eyes gave no hint of emotion. He was, she decided at that moment, as dead inside as she was.
He echoed her thoughts. “You are, for all intents and purposes, dead.” His last word was a death knell that smashed the inside of her brain, splattering everything she knew and understood to a pulp. She was in way over her head, but there was no way in hell she was going to show any of these guys a hint of weakness. She’d go down with a fight they’d all remember.
She stiffened her spine and narrowed her eyes threateningly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget where you grew up, forget your roots, forget you ever knew a woman named Angela Celeste Giacomelli.”
“You expect me to just take all of this at face value? Like you’re doing me some kind of favor? Who are you? What are you asking me to be a part of?”
“As you were informed, we are friendlies. A covert organization that can and does cross the line to go as deep into the dark side as necessary to achieve mission success. A covert op that handpicks its operatives, erases them, then, with a new identity, turns them loose.”
The hair on the back of Angela’s neck spiked. “A covert op that breaks the law in the name of upholding the law?”
Frosty eyes smiled and nodded. “More or less.”
“And I’m ju
st supposed to go along with the program?”
“That or Brinks will escort you to Jessup.”
Angela pushed back into the hard metal of the chair and contemplated the offer as it stood. A chance for freedom, to a degree, but on their terms. And what if she didn’t like their terms?
“From the moment of your extraction, all your previous identifying data have been reissued. Blood type, fingerprints, DNA,” the man in black said.
“How?”
“We have long arms and deep-rooted connections all over the world. We can, with one fell stroke on a keyboard, erase anything and anyone.”
“But I existed!”
“And so you still do, but with altered information.”
“Are you implying that the fingerprints on file in every system that houses them including DMV are not mine?”
He nodded.
Angela swallowed hard. Who were these guys? And why her?
“When you are fully indoctrinated, you’ll be apprised of the full scope of our capabilities. Get familiar with Jax Cassidy, which is your new name—”
“Are you kidding me!” She struggled against the rope. While Brinks fought a smile, so did a few of the other jerks circling her. The man before her, however, did not so much as blink.
“Call her Cuddles,” one of the guys taunted.
Brinks’s green eyes glittered. “How about something sweet, like her vocabulary.”
She moved to kick him away, but her legs were bound to the damn chair. “If I’m going to play, I want a name I like.”
“This isn’t a game. It’s my rules or you go back to your old life,” the dark-haired iceman softly said.
Angela—she refused to think of herself as Jax—narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “Listen, before we go any further here, why don’t you put it all out on the table. I reserve the right to change my mind.”
