by Dirk Patton
Shoving his wallet in my back pocket and the FBI ID into my jacket, I rushed back into the first office suite. Ripping the blinds down, I looked for a way to open the window, but it was a solid, fixed pane of glass.
Pausing in thought, I ran back out, grabbed the arm of the man I’d killed and dragged the body into the office. Looking down at my face, another thought occurred to me and I leaned back and aimed the pistol. When I had it lined up at a sharp angle, I pulled the trigger.
The bullet entered on the side of his left cheek bone, tearing across and obliterating the nose and leaving a gaping hole when it exited through the right eye socket. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn’t like the idea of leaving my face lying around at a crime scene. Now his own mother wouldn’t recognize the ragged mass of pulp.
Stepping back a few feet, I raised the rifle to my shoulder. Aiming at the window, and the building across the street. Flipping the fire selector to full auto with my thumb, I pulled and held the trigger.
The M4 was loud in the enclosed space, quickly spitting out all thirty rounds in the magazine. The glass shattered and I could see puffs of dust where the bullets blasted small craters into the stone façade of my target building. I changed mags and fired another thirty rounds out into the night.
Dropping the expended magazine, I loaded a fresh one and bent over the corpse. Put the rifle’s pistol grip in its hand and bent the index finger onto the trigger. With my finger over his, I squeezed and fired a long burst into the walls and ceiling of the room.
Releasing my grip on the dead man’s hand, his arm flopped to the floor and the rifle clattered next to it. Now, when the forensics team checked his hand for burned powder, gun shot residue, they’d find exactly what they were looking for. Confirmation he was the one doing the shooting.
I could already hear sirens and voices shouting from outside as I pounded down the hall. Unscrewing the suppressor from the end of the pistol as I ran, I slipped it into my jacket and pulled out the FBI ID case. I didn’t think I could get out of the area before cops and Secret Service converged, but I had a perfectly good FBI badge and ID, with my face on it.
Reaching the back door, I burst through and skidded to a stop when several flashlights blinded me. Voices were screaming, telling me to stop and get on the ground. Fortunately, I’d had the foresight to stick the pistol in my waistband so they didn’t see a suspect waving a weapon around and immediately open fire.
“FBI!” I shouted, extending my arm and holding the ID high in the air. “One shooter down inside, but there’s another in the area. Did you see him?”
“On the ground!” A voice commanded from behind one of the lights.
“I’m FBI you fucking idiot,” I screamed back, waving the badge case. “Did you see the other shooter or not?”
It was quiet for a beat.
“Keep your hands in sight!”
A shadow moved in front of one of the lights and carefully approached. A man, dressed in black body armor, Kevlar helmet and goggles, cautiously walked up and took the badge case from my hand. He clicked on a small light and examined it for several seconds, looking up to compare my face. Tilting it to the side, he checked for a holographic image that all but ensured it was genuine, then handed it back.
“He’s legit,” he shouted and all but one of the lights went dark.
“Secret Service,” he said as three men rushed past me into the building, rifles at their shoulders. “What are you doing here? And how did you get past our seal?”
“Been tracking a couple of white supremacists for a few days. Followed them here. Seal was already off when I went in. They must have picked it before I arrived. Got one of them, but the other ran when the shooting started. You should have seen him.”
I was making it up as I went along. Pulling the story out of my ass. But it was a good one. Explained the gunfire, and placed a second shooter loose somewhere in the area.
The man raised his hand and activated a small radio.
“Emergency scrub Ramrod! Repeat. Emergency scrub Ramrod!”
“What’s that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“POTUS was scheduled to have dinner at a restaurant just down the block,” he said, looking up when the three agents who had gone into the building appeared at the door.
“One down, boss,” one of them reported. “M4 next to his hand. Shot in the head.”
“Me,” I said, confessing to shooting the man. “Now I need to find this other asshole. Could use help. My backup is still five minutes away.”
He nodded, placing another call on the radio before bringing his team into a tight circle. I kept pulling ideas out of thin air, coming up with a description of a man who didn’t exist. Maintaining the persona of a federal agent taking control of a situation, I sent them off in three different directions. I took the fourth, which just happened to be the way back to the hotel.
One of the agents was detailed to remain at the building, securing the scene. He moved through the door, taking up station in the lobby. The rest of us split up, heading in our assigned directions.
50
I moved through the alley as more and more sirens sounded all around the area. Initially, I’d planned to remove the FBI jacket and try to blend in, but rethought that idea. There were about to be a few hundred cops and federal agents descend on a several block area of the city.
And thanks to my story, every single one of them would be looking for a white male about the same age as me. Since every pair of eyes would zero in on adult males with white skin, I decided to maintain the role of an FBI agent participating in the search. And it was a good thing I did.
As I emerged from the end of the alley, a DC Metro police car swerved to the curb in front of me, spotlight momentarily freezing me. They saw the jacket and ID I held up, waved at me and roared away. Turning, I set off for the hotel at a fast walk.
All up and down the street, police cars were pulling to a stop, roof lights flashing. The cops driving them jumped out and began checking each pedestrian that was in their immediate area. I mimed what they were doing as I walked, carefully looking at each person I passed.
Halfway to the hotel, I came to a sudden stop when I recognized a face that shouldn’t be there.
“What are you doing here,” I asked, stepping close to Ray.
Alarm bells were going off in my head. What the hell was he doing here? Was he in on it too? Had I made a mistake talking to him and trusting him? Had he been sent along as backup, to kill me?
My hand moved to the pistol, but his shot out and gripped my shoulder. He pressed with his thumb, my arm immediately going numb and failing to respond to the command from my brain to draw the weapon.
“Relax,” he said. “Carpenter sent me. I’m here trying to intercept Johnson. He killed the director and got off the rig.”
“Get your fucking hand off me,” I said, trying to twist away.
He pressed harder and a bolt of white hot lightning shot through my shoulder and into the back of my head. I gasped in pain, reaching for the pistol with my other hand. Ray shifted his grip to my neck and pushed on another spot. Now I was completely paralyzed, unable to do anything other than stand there and breathe.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said in a calm voice. “I’m here for Johnson. Carpenter tracked him after he fled the rig. He’s here in DC. In this area, but I haven’t been able to locate him.”
“I know where he is,” I said, surprised I was able to speak.
“Where?”
“My hotel room. He’s going to kill the woman I’m with.”
“Then let’s go get the cocksucker,” Ray said, releasing his hold.
All feeling instantly returned, as well as control over my body.
“You’ve got to teach me how to do that,” I said, deciding to accept him at face value.
I resumed my fast walk to the hotel and Ray fell in beside me. More police screamed by, slowing to check us out before continuing on when I raised the ID.
<
br /> “What did you do?” he asked.
“Stopped the assassination,” I said. “They’re looking for a white supremacist who’s supposed to be running around with a rifle. Best I could do.”
“What assassination?” He asked.
I came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk before realizing that in his timeline the attack hadn’t happened yet. And wouldn’t.
“The reason I’m back here,” I said, walking again. “Too long to explain.”
Ray nodded and we covered the rest of the distance to the hotel in silence. At the entrance, I pushed through a small crowd of guests and employees who had gathered outside to see what was going on down the block. Several of them stared at the FBI jacket, but I ignored them and walked into the lobby.
Running to the elevator, I held my ID out and told a small group of businessmen to wait for the next car. We stepped inside and I pushed the button for the twelfth floor. As soon as the doors slid shut, I drew my pistol and screwed the silencer back on. Ray produced a suppressed pistol from beneath his shirt, dropping an extra long magazine to check the load. Satisfied, he slapped it home and looked at me.
“We drop him on sight,” he said.
“No argument here.”
We stepped to either side as the elevator arrived at 12. It dinged, and the doors slid open. Our pistols were already up, each of us aiming at an angle into the hall, the sides of the elevator protecting our bodies in case anyone started shooting at us. The hall was empty.
Ray nodded and I stepped through first. He followed, flowing around the corner and covering our backs. I led the way down the hall, stopping short of the door to the room Julie was in.
“Just like we practiced,” he mumbled near my ear.
I had stopped on the handle side of the door. If it suddenly opened, the person inside the room wouldn’t be able to see me without sticking their head all the way through the opening and looking to the side.
Fumbling in my pocket, I found the room key. Extending my arm, I slowly inserted it into the slot on the lock and pulled it back out. There was a soft beep, the tiny LED changed to green and a click sounded as the bolt released. Turning the handle, I rolled around the jam and slammed the door open with my shoulder.
I came in fast, dropping low as I entered, pistol in both hands extended in front of my body. Scanning left, like Ray had taught me. He came in on my heels and broke to the right. The living area was empty and both bedroom doors were closed.
Ray glanced at me and raised his eyebrow in a question. I pointed at the door to the room I’d put the unconscious man in and we padded across the thick carpeting and stacked up to the side. We repeated the entry we’d performed at the main door and I came to an abrupt halt when I saw the body on the bed.
It was Cummins, right where I’d left him. But there hadn’t been blood staining the white pillow the last time I’d checked on him. And there hadn’t been a bullet hole in the back of his head.
Ray was signing for me to provide cover while he cleared the bathroom, but I ran out of the room. Ran straight to the other bedroom door, turning the knob and bursting through. I dropped the pistol and dashed forward, falling to my knees at the edge of the bed.
Julie lay on her back, blood stained hair fanned across a pillow. Her face was swollen and bruised from a beating. Her big, blue eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.
51
“Send me back!”
I began shouting the instant I arrived on the dais. It had been an excruciating wait for the return to real time, hiding in the hotel room. I’d spent several hours with Julie’s body cradled in my arms. Working through the anger and emotion. Trying to get it under control so I could operate effectively when I had the opportunity.
Ray had assured me he would get the room cleaned up, removing any evidence of the presence of any persons other than Julie and Cummins. There was nothing we could do with their bodies, and if I couldn’t change past events, they would have to be left for housekeeping to discover.
I wasn’t happy. Not at all. Wasn’t thinking clearly. Thankfully, Ray had sat me down and calmed me. Or at least focused me. Got me ready for the task ahead.
Pounding on the curved glass in impatience, I squeezed through and sprinted for the door as soon as it began opening. The two Marine guards looked at me in surprise as I raced past them, heading for the control room.
Bursting in, I ran to where Dr. Anholts and Carpenter stood. Both of them stared at me, taken aback at my entrance.
“Send me back to DC! Now!” I screamed at them.
“What happened?” Carpenter asked.
“Johnson killed someone I have to save,” I said, trying to calm myself. “I stopped the assassination, but lost some people. I can go back, save them, and get Johnson.”
“What assassination?” Carpenter asked.
“The President,” I shouted. “Sorry. It’s on my chip, but we don’t have time. You’ve got to send me back.”
“We need you to save the director,” Dr. Anholts said. “Agent Johnson killed him before leaving. Ray went after him, but we haven’t heard from him.”
“I just left Ray,” I said in a rush. “He didn’t find Johnson. Our only chance is to go back and I’ll stop him.”
“Wait. Slow down,” Carpenter said, holding both hands up. “The director is the priority.”
“Bullshit!”
I snarled and moved forward. Carpenter saw the expression on my face and took a step back.
“Mr. Whitman. Please,” Dr. Anholts stepped between us and looked me in the eye. “You’re not thinking clearly. If we send you back to a point where you can save the director, you can stop Agent Johnson before he leaves the facility. If he never leaves the facility, he can’t harm the people you’re trying to save.”
I stared at her, processing what she’d said. Letting out a long breath, I nodded my head when I realized she was right. If Johnson never left the rig, he couldn’t hurt Julie.
“OK, fine. Let’s go,” I said, impatient.
“You should watch the recording,” Carpenter said, stepping closer now that I didn’t seem to want to rip his throat out. “See what happened so you know what you’re walking into.”
After a moment I nodded in agreement. Impulsiveness and lack of preparation had gotten me into enough messes in my life. Maybe it was time to start acting like an adult.
I followed Dr. Anholts and Carpenter to the conference room. Nervous energy made me want to pace while he queued up the surveillance video, but I forced myself to take a seat.
Sitting there, all I could think about was Julie. The last kiss we’d shared before I set out to stop the murder of the President. Then another thought occurred to me that chilled me to the bone.
“There are cameras everywhere in the facility. Right?”
“Yes,” Carpenter answered. “With the exception of the director’s private quarters, the entire facility is under constant surveillance.”
“Johnson would know this?”
Carpenter stopped tapping keys on his laptop as he and Dr. Anholts turned to look at me.
“Of course,” she said. “What’s your point?”
“Think about it,” I said. “He kills the director, knowing it will be captured on video. Knowing he’s sitting in a facility that houses a time machine. Whatever he is, he isn’t stupid. Do you really think he doesn’t expect me to come back and stop him? Why would he make it so easy for us?”
They sat there staring at me. Thinking about what I’d just said.
“I must confess I’ve had similar concerns,” Dr. Anholts said. “And I’ve known Agent Johnson for a long time. This is completely out of character for him.”
“Doctor, you’ve seen the footage,” Carpenter said, exasperation clear in his tone. “There’s no other explanation.”
She glared at him for a time before looking down at her lap.
“Show me the video,” I said after a minute of silence.
Carpenter turned back
to his laptop and finished loading the file. A moment later an image of the corridor outside the director’s office and quarters appeared on the large screen at the front of the room. I watched as Johnson, looking as dapper as ever, approached the office door and knocked.
He paused for a moment, then opened it and stepped through. The video jumped to a shot from inside Patterson’s office. The office was empty and Johnson crossed the small space and went through another door.
“He went into the director’s quarters,” Carpenter explained. “No camera in there so we can’t see what happened.”
“No audio?” I asked.
“No. It’s in the budget for next year, but the system hasn’t been upgraded yet.”
The video was still rolling. According to the time stamp in the lower right corner, it was only one and half minutes before Johnson reappeared in the director’s office and passed back out into the hall. The view kept jumping as multiple camera feeds were spliced together, tracking him as he headed directly to the helipad where a helicopter waited for him.
It was painted red and black with the logo for Texaco prominently showing on the sides. The engine was apparently already running. The rotor slowly turned as he walked directly to the aircraft and climbed aboard. The rotor sped up and it quickly departed. Carpenter hit a button, closing the file.
“After he left, we tracked the helicopter to an airport where Johnson boarded an FBI jet and flew to Washington DC.”
“How long after this was the director found?” I asked.
“His assistant went looking for him when he missed a scheduled conference call with the Department of Defense. She found him eleven minutes later. The director was shot in the back of the head at close range. Johnson must have used a silencer as no one heard the shot.”
“Anyone else in or out of his office or quarters?”
“No,” Carpenter shook his head. “Half an hour after he was found, we had reviewed the tapes and I asked Ray to go after him.”
