Distressed: Enemy Of The State- Book 1

by James Hunt

  The whine of old door hinges sounded, followed by them being slammed shut behind them. Whatever place they stepped into was hot and humid, with the heavy stench of sweat and metal. The place was also filled with more people, as Dylan listened to dozens of different voices fade in and out.

  Another door opened then closed, and finally Dylan was forced to a chair and the blindfold was ripped off. One fluorescent light bulb hung from a string in the center of the room, and Dylan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  “You will wait here until we can move you,” Kasaika said then tied his wrists to the table.

  Dylan pulled against the ties. “Wait! Is my son here?” Dylan’s words were desperate. He extended his body as far as it would go before the restraints stopped him. “You need to let me see him. Let me see my son.”

  Kasaika lingered at the doorway, staring at Dylan with empty eyes, but said nothing. He finally left, leaving Dylan alone in the room, the light bulb above gently swinging back and forth.

  It didn’t take long for Dylan’s clothes to become drenched in sweat. What air was in the room was stagnant, hot, and decaying. He writhed and shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his heart racing, not knowing the future of his life or the life of his son.

  Then the door flung open, and Kasaika burst through along with a few others, and then Perry, and finally, his son. The moment Sean made eye contact with Dylan, he rushed to him, throwing his arms around Dylan’s neck and squeezing hard. “Are you all right?” With his arms tied behind his back, Dylan couldn’t hold his son, but the boy stuck to him like glue.

  Finally, Kasaika peeled Sean off Dylan and held him back. Perry took a step between them and bent over to his knees so he could look Dylan in the eye. “Enjoying the room?”

  “Let my son go. Let him come home with me.” Dylan’s words had an edge to them. A calm, stoic anger that accompanied the throaty annunciation.

  Perry patted Dylan’s leg. “You love your son, don’t you, Dylan?” He spun around and grabbed Sean from Kasaika’s grip. Perry ran his hands through Sean’s dirty-blond hair. The boy looked like he hadn’t showered since he was taken. It was the first time Dylan got a good look. The soiled clothes, dirt-smeared face, greasy hair. Perry pulled out a knife and kept it hovered just above Sean’s chest.

  Dylan jolted and spasmed in the chair at the sight of the knife, violently trying to shake himself free from the restraints. He jumped from the chair and lunged for Perry, dragging the heavy desk with him, as it was still tied to his hands and wrists. The explosion of energy happened in the blink of an eye, and before Dylan managed to get to Perry and Sean, two of Kasaika’s men grabbed hold of him and muscled him back into his chair. “You don’t touch my son!” Spit flew from Dylan’s mouth like venom. His neck and cheeks flushed red as Perry inched the blade closer to Sean’s chest.

  Perry wiped Sean’s hair off his forehead and leaned down like he would whisper in his ear. “And you love your father, don’t you, Sean?” Sean nodded his head, and Perry scraped the tip of the blade across the fabric of the T-shirt but without breaking through the cloth.

  Sean broke down, crying, his face twisted in fear and pain. Dylan’s stomach churned, and his body continued to fight against the pairs of hands holding him back. No matter how hard he pushed, no matter how hard he fought, Dylan couldn’t spare his son this suffering.

  Perry rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing scarred and disfigured flesh with raised red bumps and sporadic, poorly shaped spider-web designs. He held up the arm for Sean to see. “I loved my father too when I was a boy. And this is what I got for that love.” Perry dropped his arm and then placed the tip of the blade in the top left corner of Sean’s chest. “And this is what your father’s love will get you.”

  “No!” Dylan exploded from the chair, this time making it two feet before Kasaika and his henchmen tackled him back to the floor. Sean’s screams filled the room, and Dylan looked up to the sight of his boy squirming as Perry brought the blade down across his chest. Blood erupted from the line cut in the fabric, and Perry didn’t stop until he made it to the middle of Sean’s chest. Perry tossed the blade on the ground, and Sean wailed as he was carried away.

  Dylan squirmed under the pressure of the three bodies holding him down. He looked up to Perry, who was wiping the blood from his hands. “I’ll kill you. You hear me? I’m going to kill you!”

  Perry knelt as Dylan’s cheek was pressed harder into the floor. “Every time you ask to see your son, I’m going to cut him. In fact, every time I think you’re even thinking about your son, I’m going to cut him. Each one will be worse than the first, and I won’t stop until every inch of your son’s skin is bloody.” Perry kicked Dylan’s forehead with the toe of his boot on the way out, and Dylan was left in the room, disoriented.

  Kasaika and his men were last to leave, and Dylan was left alone in his chair, shackled to the table. His head ached, and the pain in the rest of his body was catching up. He slumped down, his eyes wet and red. He forced the tears back and dug his palms into his eyes, trying to dig out the image of his son screaming, the blood running down his chest, the pain on his face, the tears, the knife, but the harder he fought it, the stronger the images grew. Dylan screamed, every ounce of frustration and pain leaving his body in one long, primal yell.

  Dylan’s voiced boomed and echoed against the walls. Heat rushed through his body, up his neck, and into his face. He felt the pressure mounting in his head and the strain on his jaw, opening his mouth wide, letting all the rage and pain empty from him. But instead of fatigue, the screams only brought more energy, more rage, more pain. It fueled him, gave him strength. And that’s what he would use, that’s how he would get his son to safety. It didn’t matter what it turned him into or what his fate would be attached to his choices. He was going to free his son. And all of the debts Dylan racked up would cost his own life.

  Chapter 5

  Cooper sat next to Diaz as Jimmy Moringer, director of the DEA, stepped inside along with a few of his deputy directors. Cooper noticed the bags under his eyes, the sloppy knot in his tie. She’d never seen him look so tired.

  “Cooper, Diaz,” Moringer said. “Don’t bother getting up.” He took his seat across the table and slapped a file between them. “Well, you were right. The moment the convoy made it into an area that wasn’t deemed high risk, the transport was hit. This terrorist group had a plan for everything. The river, the Coast Guard and Navy that were stationed outside the Hudson. It was smart.” Cooper went to grab the folder reinstating her to active duty, but Moringer stopped her. “It comes with some conditions, Cooper.”

  Cooper sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

  “With you suspended and on the outside, we can use that to our advantage.” Moringer pushed the file toward Cooper, and she grabbed it. “We’re upping your security clearance but keeping you off the books. You will get information from me, and me alone. We don’t know how many people Perry have with him. If we’re going to catch him, we need to do it ourselves. It comes with some risks, though.”

  Cooper looked it over. According to the file, she’d have just as much access as the director himself. “I’m used to the liabilities, sir.”

  “We can’t touch Perry. Not now at least. Both Homeland and FBI directors hold him in high regard. He’s had a hand in making policy for a very long time.”

  Son of a bitch. “He’s been planning this for a long time.”

  “If it’s him,” Moringer replied. “All you have right now is speculation. We need hard evidence, and I won’t go to the other directors until you give it to us.” Moringer rose, along with his deputies, and the three men headed for the door. “I suggest you make it fast, Cooper. We’re running out of time.”

  Cooper knew he was right. The attacks across the country were becoming more frequent every day. The breakdown in communication, transportation, security, all of it was mounting to unprecedented levels. And every
day this group of terrorists found new ways to torture the country. Attacks on food banks, fuel tankers, power stations, cell towers, cable lines, train stations, public transportation, anything and everything to keep people from moving.

  Tanks and Humvees roamed the streets, as martial law had been enacted for most of the country. People were growing restless. Maybe complete social disorder was what he wanted? But there was a sinking feeling in the back of Cooper’s mind that it was something more. “C’mon.” She slapped Diaz on the arm. “Let’s see how far I can push my new clearance.”

  “No can do, Coop.” Diaz shook his head. “You can’t have any contact with anyone from the department moving forward except for Moringer. He made sure I understood that before the meeting took place.” Diaz walked to the door and gave a shrug. “We can’t make it look like you’re getting any help. As far as the director and I are concerned, we asked you to come in here to tell you to stop snooping around.” Diaz lingered at the door before opening it then looked back at her. “But if you do need help with anything, I’ve gotten pretty good at lying.” He flashed a grin and then left.

  Cooper reached for the file on the table once more, flipping through the pages. The file contained information on attacks out at sea. A number of Coast Guard vessels and Navy ships were being pestered by pirates and mercenaries, but so far they’d done nothing more than lead them on wild-goose chases. However, there was a report listed that showed two Coast Guard ships missing, with the last radio transmission coming from somewhere off the Atlantic Coast near Boston. She shut the file and drummed her fingers on the table and quickly left the room.

  The moment Cooper was out the door and into the hallway, any DEA agent or staff member in the area stopped what they were doing to look up at her. It was like she had the plague, a witch marked and not to be spoken to or interacted with in fear of catching whatever she had. But despite the most recent events, the plague that her peers thought her to have had been growing for quite some time.

  Mistrust and rumors were two of the worst stigma an agent could have, and Cooper had both. She ignored the whispers as she walked past her peers. Half of them probably either thought she had been fired or was one step closer out the door.

  Outside, the sun was up, and Washington, DC, was alive and locked down. From the steps of her department’s building, she could see the hundreds of troops in the streets. The capitol had been granted an excess number of soldiers, which seemed to have kept the terrorists from performing any attacks, but the rest of the cities of the country weren’t as lucky. DC was nothing more than a symbol.

  With the president in Air Force One, circling the atmosphere and waiting for the culprits to be caught, the city didn’t hold any real strategic value for the mayhem that the terrorists enjoyed practicing.

  The file that Moringer had given her had no mention of Captain Dylan Turk, the central focal point of how all of this had started. No doubt excluded on Perry’s orders. It’d been a while since she had spoken to Dylan. With Dylan’s son captured by the terrorists she was willing to bet that would be good motivation for blackmail. She decided it was time to go and have a word with the captain.

  ***

  The monitors on the screens had faces from every major city on the West Coast, and Perry watched each and every one of them squirm. It gave him a certain satisfaction, something that he couldn’t find anywhere else except within the realm of authority.

  Perry had found that all men craved power, even if they didn’t realize it. It was the aphrodisiac that corrupted businessmen, politicians, anyone and everyone who managed to get a taste. It was the same power that his father had seemed to grasp, but once it was gone it had left him twisted and beaten, which had caused him to physically leave his own marks on Perry.

  The ascension of Perry’s career had been a long, strenuous climb. He lacked the political connections, looks, and charm that his peers relied on. But none of them could outsmart him. Add that to the fact that no one expected much from him, and he managed to sneak up behind every doubter and choke them out with their own tie around their neck.

  “You said we’d be making money. You said we’d be rich!” The grey-haired, heavy-set, flushed-red-faced man on the screen just left of the center pointed a fat finger at Perry and slammed his fist on a table. “But money won’t do us any good with half the country in chaos!”

  The rest of the men on the screens echoed their discontent with similar gestures. The last-ditch effort to save face and pretend that they didn’t fear what was coming, offering the illusion that they still had control over their own destinies, much like children throwing tantrums in a department store.

  “You came to me, gentlemen,” Perry said. “There is no other course of action. You keep the shipments coming into the West Coast for my men, or I send what units I have in the area and kill you.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  Perry twirled the flag pin on the lapel of his jacket. The outline was crusted with gold, and the red, white, and blue shimmered under the lighting in the office. He plucked it off and pinched it between his fingers, holding it up for the men on the screen to see. “Do you know what this is? It was given to me by the vice president of the United States after a Senate hearing three years ago. I’d just been promoted to deputy director of Homeland, and the Senate meeting I was a part of was a subcommittee for wiretapping and surveillance of criminal activity in the United States.” Perry dropped the pin to the table, and it clanked lightly against the wood. “I can do whatever I want. Whenever I want. I have power. I have reach. I have authority. I have everything that you need to keep your operations running, and if I hear one more piece of pathetic, whining, sniveling shit tell me what I can and can’t do, I will bring you down with the force of the United States government, which is willing to grab any scapegoat it can as to who is helping orchestrate these attacks.”

  It sent most of the faces on the screens in a downward glance, but Don Vivenci refused to lower his eyes. “And what makes you think we can’t turn around and pin this on you?”

  Perry reached over to his laptop and opened his inbox. He dragged a few documents and attached them to an email, ran it through an encryption program, then hit send. “You have a present in your inbox, Don.” The mob boss fiddled with his phone while Perry picked up the flag pin from the desk and pinned it back to the lapel of his jacket.

  “What is this?” Vivenci asked.

  “That,” Perry said, looking down at the pin and spinning it to where it was sitting upright, “is the proposal I made over two years ago to track your movements on the West Coast. Criminal activity, conspiracy, drugs, it’s all there and already signed off by my superiors.” With the pin neatly back on his jacket, Perry looked to Vivenci’s ghost-white face. “They know about my relationship with you, but they just believe that it’s for the cause of stopping you instead of using you. Whatever lies you try and tell them will be discarded as farce and a sad attempt to try and save your own skins. I have files like that on everyone.”

  The pale, ghostly look spread to the other six faces on the monitors around Don Vivenci. If it weren’t for the fact that it’d been so easy to manipulate them, Perry would almost feel sorry for them, but that portion of his mind had long ago dissolved.

  “The pick-up times will be shifted by an hour this week.” Perry rose from his chair and buttoned his jacket. “I expect everything to run smoothly. If I hear of anything out of the norm, then you can expect a federal raid on your homes, families, and whatever is left of your businesses. Goodbye, gentlemen.” Perry clicked the power button on the conference call, and the screens went black. He placed his laptop in his briefcase and opened the blinds to his office.

  The hallways were busy, as they always were these days. He checked with his receptionist to make sure all his meetings were set for this afternoon, and once she confirmed, he headed down the hall.

  “Oh! Mr. Perry!”

  He stopped and turned, his receptionist hurrying down t
he hall after him, holding a piece of paper. She caught her breath, and Perry snatched the scribbling from her hand. “What’s this?”

  “Director Moringer from the DEA called while you were on your conference call. He said it was urgent. About an Agent Cooper?”

  That woman was starting to become a larger pain in Perry’s side than he’d anticipated. “Thank you. I’ll give him a call immediately.” Perry uttered a few under-his-breath curses as he weaved in and out of the personnel scattered throughout the halls.

  Outside, the heat of DC struck him, and he felt the inside of his suit start to cook. He made a beeline for his car, dialing Moringer’s number on the way. On the second ring, Moringer picked up.

  “Deputy Director Perry, how are you?”

  “Busy. What can I help you with, Director Moringer?” Perry tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat of his car and started the engine.

  “Agent Adila Cooper worked on the original case with Homeland last week when that boat captain was boarded by the terrorists.”

  “Yes, Captain Turk, I remember. I thought Agent Cooper had been suspended due to her negligence with the captain and his son?” Perry pulled out of the parking garage, and one of the soldiers stopped traffic and waved him out onto the street. Every intersection that Perry passed had troops stationed at it. Foolish show of power and a waste of resources.

  “She was, but we found out yesterday that she’s been investigating the matter on her own, and she kept bringing your name up. As far as I’m concerned, she’s on her last leg. She’s a good agent, but I don’t need her getting in your boss’s way and causing me another headache. I was hoping that any information you get about her, if she continues her work unauthorized, you could funnel to me and I could handle internally.”