by G. K. Parks
After the murder, Cline called Frank Farlow for help. He had a dead body on his hands and needed someone to assist with the clean-up. Farlow left work with the van, met Cline outside Haze’s building, and dumped the body inside. Afterward, the two men went back inside Haze’s apartment, located the keys to Haze’s car, and planted the bomb. While this was happening, the two geniuses left the van parked in a tow away zone. When they returned the next morning to retrieve it and the body, the police already impounded the car.
This was the impetus that encouraged the relocation of the car bombing. Originally intended to be a political statement, it was now going to be used as a cover-up for a murder. Additionally, based on what Tim and John said, Frank hoped that the police would mistakenly believe the ADA set the explosion himself to illustrate his distrust for a corrupt legal system. But as Frank and Forrester continued to plot and plan, they realized how unrealistic that sounded, and instead, Farlow decided to keep on track with his other target, the restaurant.
Cline wasn’t going to disagree, especially since Farlow could turn him in for killing an ADA. The plan continued, but once again, fate interfered with Farlow’s scheme. The package sent to the restaurant exploded in the closed storage room, not doing any real damage or causing any injury. Frank Farlow failed twice. Thankfully, the only person hurt in this venture was Douglas Haze, and that had more to do with Cline than anyone else.
I rubbed my eyes, staring at my completed report. Right now, search warrants were being signed for Frank Farlow’s storage unit. His brothers tattled on him for amassing numerous weapons and other illegal devices. It could only further solidify our case by adding additional charges and more years to the laundry list of felonies and decades’ worth of prison time Farlow was already facing.
Looking across the room, Carver was at his desk, searching for something. He had been off his game since the near-miss in Cline’s apartment, and I wondered what he was planning to do.
“Want to grab a drink?” I asked.
“Not tonight.”
“Are you planning to engage in some extracurricular stress relief techniques?” I asked.
He chuckled, looking up and smiling. “That depends on if you’re offering.” He was grinning, joking around, but I couldn’t help but think there was a sadness to his eyes.
“Well, I think we might need to go have a few drinks first. My inhibitions need to be greatly lowered.”
“Alex, you’re such a tease. But in case you aren’t kidding, can I have a rain check?”
“Sure,” I replied, wishing he’d speak his mind. “Just in case you reconsider, I’ll be at my usual watering hole.” He nodded. “Good night.”
“Yeah, you too.”
I stopped by the bar near my apartment, took a seat, and ordered a soda. Carver didn’t show up, and I didn’t expect him to. I had no intention of sleeping with someone I worked with, but I thought he might want some company. There were only so many times you could walk away from a life or death situation unscathed.
Twelve
The next morning, the warrant was signed for Frank Farlow’s storage unit. It was a converted warehouse that was typically leased to businesses to house their stock. It was located a mile from the OIO offices, and we had teams checking the area for anyone suspicious. Since Farlow was a fan of guns and artillery, there was the possibility his stockpile might draw the attention of some undesirable individuals.
I had barely read over the morning reports when one of the IT techs summoned me. I followed him into the elaborate room of monitors, surveillance feeds, and communication devices, and he began explaining the logistics for the current operation. I listened as he went through the placement of surveillance equipment, the location of the warehouse, and the basic layout.
“Okay,” I said, uncertain why I was getting this briefing, “why are you telling me this?”
“Jablonsky said you were coordinating the operation from the office,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Me?” This had never happened before. I was always sent out in the field, either to investigate or to surveil, so this made no sense. He nodded. “Um, just wait a minute.” I went down the hall and knocked on Mark’s door.
“Parker, you’re running things from inside today.”
“Why am I being punished?” I asked as Boyle and Carver entered Mark’s office in tactical gear.
“You’re not, but if you think it’s beyond your capabilities, then I have some paperwork that needs filing,” Jablonsky retorted, checking his service piece and putting it into his holster. “It’s IT’s game anyway. You’re just relaying the go-ahead over comms.”
“Fine,” I huffed.
Boyle gave me a pat on the back. “See, this is what happens when you actually get your reports filed on time, unlike the rest of us.” He tossed a pointed look at Carver, who chuckled.
“We leave in ten,” Jablonsky announced as he left the three of us in his office while he went to speak to the Director.
“Seriously, what gives?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Boyle hesitated, glancing into the hallway, “and you didn’t hear this from me, but they might be grooming you for a promotion. Try not to screw it up.” He winked and left the office.
I eyed Michael suspiciously. “Is that why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder lately?” I asked him.
“That wasn’t my intention. I’ve been contemplating making some changes.” He was being mysterious. “I’ll fill you in when I get back, and I’ll try not to have too much fun without you.”
“Hey,” I stopped him as he began to leave the office, “be careful. I’m only your telephone operator, so it makes it difficult to watch your back from here.”
He smirked and went to join the other two men.
Blowing out a breath, I went back to the operations room to learn how to run point from off-site. As I settled into the chair, the techs hooked me up with an earpiece and radio, turning the dial to the proper channel so I’d be in contact with Jablonsky and his team. While technically this was deemed a raid, it was for evidence gathering. The surveillance teams that had been monitoring the area all night didn’t spot anyone in the vicinity, so this was just a simple enter, search, and retrieve mission.
“Jablonsky thought this would be good practice. Something easy for you to cut your teeth on,” the tech said. “How long have you been with us, Parker?”
“Almost five years.” I shook my head, wondering where the time went. It seemed like only yesterday I was being made a full-fledged agent, and somehow, it was three years later. Maybe I’d just been too busy to notice. No wonder I was more pissed off than usual, I hadn’t taken more than two consecutive days off since I started working. “Just wondering why I’m the last one to hear about this advancement opportunity?”
“No one’s offered you the job yet,” the tech pointed out. “This is just a practice to see if you’d be able to handle more responsibility one day.”
“Frankly, I’d rather be outside the warehouse.”
The radio made some staticky noises in my ear before the tech adjusted the dial, and I heard Jablonsky’s voice over the speaker. They just arrived on scene. Boyle and Carver were going around to the back exit while Mark took the front door. The tech nodded, and I leaned into the microphone.
“No sign of any activity outside the warehouse. It’s been converted into four separate units. Farlow’s is on the eastern end of the building. From the blueprints, that unit has two exits, a single door in the front and a large cargo door in the back. The interior is approximately twenty-five hundred square feet.” I reread the warrant to make sure it was appropriately filled out for the right subunit within the warehouse.
“Are we cleared to breach?” Boyle asked. He was chuckling at the absurdity of how serious I was taking my new duty.
“What do you think, Jablonsky?” I replied. Mark was still senior, so things like this should be his call.
“It’s your show, Parker,” Mark replied.
Taking a breath, I looked at the tech, trying to determine my thoughts on this new position of power. The monitors in front of us were local traffic cams near the area. They didn’t provide a great view, but by squinting and turning to the side, a portion of the warehouse could be seen between another building and a tree. He gave a curt nod.
“Affirmative. Move in.” Within a second of my command, the radio let out a shrill noise, and static filled the airspace. A dark cloud of smoke billowed on to the edge of the screen. “What the hell happened?” I squawked into the radio and to the tech.
Frantically, I tried to get someone to respond, but there was nothing but static. The tech took over, spinning dials and flipping switches, but I was out of my chair and halfway down the hall. My cell phone was in my hand as I ran for the stairs.
“911, how may I assist you?” the dispatch operator asked.
“This is Agent Parker.” I rambled off my credentials as I ran down the flights of stairs, concluding with the warehouse address and a request for immediate support from all emergency services. Reaching the bottom, keys in hand, I sprinted to the car, putting it in gear and speeding from the garage.
The warehouse was only a mile from my location, but driving through city traffic was hell. I was on autopilot, and as I screeched around a corner, I briefly wondered how long I had been driving on the sidewalk. The flashing lights and sirens were on, and thankfully, pedestrians leapt out of my way as I flew to the location. I made it to the warehouse within five minutes to find fire trucks and ambulances already on scene.
The fire department had a stationhouse only two blocks from here and responded immediately to my call. Throwing the car into park and bolting from the door, I spotted Jablonsky sitting on the concrete as an EMT ran a flashlight in front of his eyes.
“What the hell happened?” I asked, relieved to see him alert and functioning. Only then did I notice the dark plumes billowing from what was left of the building.
“Those sons of bitches rigged the building to explode.” He tried to push the EMT away. “Where’s Boyle and Carver?” he asked. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m fine.” He tried to stand, but his balance was off. And the EMT pushed him back into a seated position.
“I’ll find out,” I replied, already circling toward the back of the building as fear began to overtake my senses with every step.
“Ma’am,” a fireman said as he tried to block my path, and I flashed my credentials at him, not slowing my pace. “Ma’am,” he tried again as I sprinted toward the back. His job was to put the fire out; mine was to find my friends.
As the rear of the building came into range, I saw a fire truck and two ambulances. There was a bloody sheet on the ground, and I found myself racing to it. No, this can’t be happening. My mind kept screaming in protest as if that would change the outcome.
“Michael,” I exclaimed. He was on a gurney; two EMTs were on either side of him. He was bleeding from his temple, but he seemed alert. “Oh my god, Michael,” I ran to him, “are you okay? What happened?”
He looked distraught. “Sam opened the door. He had just gotten inside before the blast,” he swallowed.
One of the EMTs pushed me out of the way. “Ma’am, we have to get him to the hospital, now,” he insisted.
I climbed into the back of the ambulance after Michael, not thinking about anything except making sure he was okay. One of the two EMTs shut the doors and went around to the front while the other strapped Michael in and connected him to a few monitors and started checking his vitals.
“Sam’s dead,” Michael said.
His skin looked so pale against the ash marks from the blast. He coughed, and I saw blood. The EMT was stripping the tactical gear off of him, and I clutched his hand.
“This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes started to flutter, and his voice was barely above a whisper. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him. I leaned closer and felt his lips brush against my cheek.
“It’s okay, Alex,” he insisted.
As I leaned away, his body jerked, the warning bells sounded on the medical equipment, and the EMT shoved me out of the way. With the Kevlar off and his shirt cut open, I saw that his torso was covered in deep purple and black.
“Hurry it up,” the EMT yelled to the driver. “He’s bleeding into his abdomen. Have trauma prepared to get him into surgery as soon as we arrive.”
Michael flatlined, and the EMT charged the defibrillator and shocked him. After two jolts, the monitor beeped an unsteady rhythm. A moment later, the ambulance slowed, the doors were yanked open, and they carried the gurney out of the ambulance. I didn’t move. Boyle was dead, and Carver was dying.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” That horrible word kept repeating as if on a loop, and I jumped when someone touched my shoulder. “Ma’am,” the EMT said again, “they’ll do everything they can. Were you at the warehouse when the blast went off?”
“No, but I should have been.” I stepped out of the ambulance on shaky legs and studied the hospital doors. I couldn’t go inside, fearing what the outcome would be.
As I stood motionless and staring, the second EMT from the rig returned. “He’s in surgery, but,” his expression looked grim; he already knew what the outcome would be, “they’ll keep you updated on his condition.”
I shook my head, fighting back tears. “The other agent, Jablonsky, any word on him?”
The two exchanged a brief look. “We’ll give you a ride back to the scene,” one of them finally said, acknowledging that I wasn’t going to wait inside the hospital for the doctors to tell me Michael didn’t make it.
Thirteen
The ambulance dropped me off next to Mark’s location. By now, the place was crawling with police, fire, and OIO agents. Jablonsky was sitting in the back of an ambulance as someone removed some debris from his cheek. He looked at me and shoved the man away, stepping down. At least his balance returned.
“Sam Boyle’s dead,” I choked out, biting the inside of my lip. “And Michael,” I stopped and forced my chin to stop quivering, “it doesn’t look good. He’s in surgery.”
“Parker,” he said my name softly, but I stepped away. Any human contact would cause the tears to spill, and now wasn’t the time or place for that. “Do what you need to.”
Brushing past all the acronym-blazoned jackets, I found my car still parked haphazardly with the driver’s side door open and the keys in the ignition. It really must be a crime scene if no one bothered to steal a perfectly good car. On autopilot, I climbed inside and somehow made it back to the OIO.
No one said a word to me, which I was thankful for. Everyone heard what happened, and the place was silent. Glancing at my computer monitor, I had no idea how I managed to write my incident report, but there it was. My eyes looked across the room, first at Boyle’s empty office and then at Carver’s desk.
“Alex.” Jablonsky had just arrived. There was a bandage along the side of his face and blood on his collar, but other than that, he seemed fine. “Come into my office.” His tone made my heart break, and my breath hitched in my throat.
“No,” I shook my head, “please, Mark. Don’t.” His eyes shone wet, and I went into his office as the first tears that I would shed began to fall. “Don’t say it.”
“Alex,” he swallowed and pulled the door closed behind me, “I’m sorry.” He hugged me, and I sobbed, feeling his own tears moisten my shoulder. Eventually, I forced my emotions into check and pulled away from his embrace.
“This is on me,” I declared, opening the door and going back to my desk. I printed my report and went to the Director’s office. Knocking but not waiting for permission to enter, I went inside. “Sir, after the events of today, I’d like to take full responsibility for what happened to our agents.” My chin quivered, and I gritted my teeth, forcing my body to obey simple, rational commands. “I hope you’ll open an investigation into their deaths.” The word caught, but I forced it out. “I will be at your dispo
sal for any questioning.” Without waiting for a response, I went back to my desk and started a new word document.
When I was finished typing, I saved it on the computer, printed a single copy, placed it in an envelope, and tucked it neatly into my purse. Giving Carver’s desk a final look, I got up. It was almost eight p.m. Jablonsky watched as I left the building. He didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. I screwed up, and two agents paid the ultimate price.
Somehow, I ended up at the hospital where they had taken Michael. After flashing my credentials, I was directed downstairs to the morgue. After answering a few more questions, I was given access to Michael’s body. The assistant pulled the drawer open and left me alone as I looked at his lifeless form.
“I’m so sorry, Michael.” I kept repeating the words over and over, hoping he’d open his eyes and tell me it was okay. How ironic that the last thing he ever said to me was that it was okay. It was almost as if he’d known. Thinking back, I wondered if he knew all along that something like this was going to happen. Remembering the instructions he forced me to listen to, I wept.
The door behind me opened, but I didn’t bother to turn around. “I knew you’d be here,” Jablonsky said, wrapping his arm around me. “Did you say your goodbyes?”
I nodded, unable to answer, and he gave Michael’s shoulder a squeeze and led me from the room.
“His parents are on their way. They should be here in the morning. It’s so fresh,” Mark sounded regretful, “but I’m going to move the files out of his apartment tonight so they can have some privacy without us interfering.”
Finding my voice, I rambled all of Carver’s instructions. We left my car at the hospital, and Mark drove me home. Before I could get out, he grasped my wrist.
“Alexis, right now this won’t mean much, but later on, it might bring you some comfort.” He swallowed, keeping his own sorrow in check. “You’re the reason Carver didn’t die in an alley four years ago. You bought him more time, and he used that time to make countless differences in this world.”
