The Arena: The Awakening (1)

by James Robert Scott

  Hank was sure he was still on the right track with regards to the Mercedes. He punched the car details into the traffic camera system again but came across a blank after it left the Airport junction. Not to be defeated, he punched in the car details without the licence plate to see what came back. Expecting an abundance of results, he only found one. A black Mercedes C63 AMG re-entered the New Jersey Turnpike at that junction thirty minutes after his initial search vehicle disappeared. What was more interesting was that it entered the Turnpike less than five minutes after the bodies were discovered in the fast food outlet parking lot.

  “We’re on!” thought Hank.

  Using the traffic camera system he managed to track the vehicle all the way down past Philadelphia and into the Centre of Washington DC. Thankfully DC is one of the most camera-heavy cities in the world, so it was a pleasure to work with. He tracked the car all the way through the city but lost it just behind the J. Edgar Hoover building on 9th Street.

  “Where the hell did it go?” Hank muttered to himself.

  He looked on the mapping system and found that where the cameras had lost it, there was a turning for an underground parking lot. Hank took a deep breath, sat back in his chair and folded his arms. The question running through his mind was, how was he going to explain to the boss that the assassin he was looking for, parked in a parking lot behind the FBI Headquarters?! In a moment of genius, Hank jumped back onto his computer and sent another email to the investigating officer of the double murder at the fast food joint. He told him to send the sample down to the forensics lab at the Hoover building ASAP. He followed that with an email to the boss saying he needed to head down there to speak to the lab about the bullet analysis for the Boston shooting.

  “That should keep him off my back for a little while” he thought to himself.

  It was going to be another long day as DC was a good three to four hour drive from Morristown. Hank didn’t want to put that amount of mileage on Laura so he grabbed one of the pool cars. It was a black Crown Victoria but it was extremely comfortable. Prior to leaving the office, he had printed off a map of the exact route the black Mercedes took on the way down. That, hopefully, would make the drive a little more interesting.

  It didn’t. There was nothing jumping out at Hank at all. He enjoyed the trip though. It was nice to see the scenery of Philadelphia as he trundled over the flyover, but before too long he was deep in the traffic of central DC. He found himself going off the track of the pre-planned route and decided just to dump the car at the Hoover Building and walk the rest of it. He finally made it onto Pennsylvania Avenue and into the underground structure of the building. Before heading out on foot to look for the Mercedes, Hank went into the main building and up to the Forensics lab. They couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t know about the bullets that were used. Well, nothing Fitz hadn’t already told him. They also said it was going to take a couple of days to run the DNA profile through from the blood on the knife. To be honest, he wasn’t worried about all of that now. He was itching to go out and find the vehicle he had been tracking.

  After a quick coffee and exchanging pleasantries with a few others in the building, Hank wandered out into the city. He walked directly towards the multi-storey parking lot he had found on mapping. On approaching, Hank discovered a side door with a staircase leading down. He looked at a quick diagram on the wall and it showed that it went down four floors. He figured that it was best to start at the top and go down from there. The parking lot car-park itself was actually quite big. Hank scanned each floor as he went down. No Mercedes! That was until he got to the third floor. He scanned the floor and was about to proceed to the next when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black Mercedes parked at the far end of the parking spaces in a poorly lit area of the floor. As he approached it, he could see that the number plate matched the one he had been tracing all the way from Newark.

  “Excellent” he thought.

  His hunch being right was the best feeling he'd had in a long time. He looked through the slightly smoked-glass windows with his pocket torch. The vehicle inside was immaculate. There was nothing lying around at all. Hank walked around to the front windscreen of the vehicle and looked at the chassis number. Using his cell phone, he called the FBI operator and checked it out. It came back as no trace on any system! With that, he asked for it to be recovered for a detailed examination.

  Hank waited with the vehicle for some FBI uniformed officers to arrive and once they were there, he left them waiting for the recovery truck. He was walking back to the FBI building when his cell phone rang. Caller ID showed it was the boss. Hank took a deep breath and answered it with an upbeat “Hello.”

  “Conference room 16 in the Hoover Building please Hank. We need to have a sit-down.”

  Unknown to him, the boss was in DC as well. He wanted a full update on what Hank had been up to and why he was spending his department’s money on DNA reports from murders they weren’t dealing with and why he was recovering a car for forensic examination.

  Chapter 10

  The Aftermath

  “Well, I’ve had worse meetings with him,” Hank thought to himself.

  He had been in the meeting with the boss for over an hour explaining what he was doing and why. He didn’t dwell on it too much as he had other things to be getting on with. He was waiting for a DNA report and a forensic report on the Mercedes. Hank had his heart set on one of those giving him a lead to chase up. For now though, his time in DC was up and he was back on the road heading for the office in Morristown. It was another tedious drive back. The flyover at Philadelphia was jammed solid and the turnpike was its usual mayhem. The day had ticked on past finishing time so he thought that he could do with clearing his head and decided to go visit Fitz. A social visit this time, and nothing to do with work. It wasn’t too far away from where he was and it didn’t take long before he was turning into the driveway and pulling up outside the green doors of the garages.

  He found Fitz where he left him the other day. He was underneath the beaten old Cadillac, grinding away at something and making a serious mess into the bargain. As he waited for the noise to stop so he could say hello, Hank remembered that there was a beat-up old beer fridge in the corner, so he grabbed a couple of cold ones and had one ready for Fitz as soon as he had finished.

  The grinder came to a stuttering halt and Hank announced that he was there, so as not to scare the bejesus out of him. Fitz lived alone and had done so for many years. He wasn’t that used to people turning up at his place to see him either.

  “Twice in a week, I’m honoured” said Fitz as he reached out and took one of the beers from Hank.

  “Well, it’s about time I had a social with you like we used to. You anywhere near getting this beast finished?” Hank enquired.

  “Yeah, I think about another month and it’ll be ready to shred some tyres,” Fitz replied.

  As he swigged his beer, Fitz caught a quick glance out of one of the windows in the garage door. He saw that Hank was driving an unmarked FBI car and not Laura.

  “Where’s Laura Hank? It’s not like you to be without her.”

  “She’s back at the office. I’m on my way back from DC and didn’t want to put the extra mileage on her. She’s too good for that” Hank proudly announced.

  “There’s not many '70 Challengers left in the world Hank, and it’s good to see one driven every day.” Fitz replied mid-swig.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Fitz wanted to ask Hank how he was doing as the contact between them had been minimal since the funeral of Hank's wife. He wanted Hank to open up a bit but was unsure if he really wanted to open those floodgates. Plus, Hank wasn’t one of those guys who showed or expressed feelings of that sort. There was a time when Fitz was the same but retirement had changed him. For the better he thought.

  The silence was broken by Hank's cell phone going off. Fitz could see a lot of head nodding and heard Hank say “OK” quite a lot so it was ob
viously work calling.

  When he came off the phone, he said to Fitz “Remember you said the other day that someone else would be watching the case that I’m on?”

  “To me it’s obvious Hank. Somebody, somewhere, is watching. If they’re not, someone has dropped the ball at their end which doesn’t sound likely. Why? What you got?”

  “That was a call from the CSI team in DC. They’ve got a match on a DNA sample I sent them from a hunch case I was looking at. It’s matched with a hair sample I also sent them today. It was from a car in the case I’m looking at and they’ve had a hit on the database. It’s Level 9 clearance to view the details though.”

  Fitz took another swig of his beer and said “I told you! I’ll bet any money it’s an agency operative. It would have to be if you needed that level of clearance. Just out of curiosity Hank, apart from the bullet you mentioned the other day, what links the victims in your case?”

  “Absolutely nothing at the moment, other than they worked in the medical profession” he replied.

  Fitz took a moment and then said “You’re gonna need some outside help with this one. Outside of the Bureau, so it doesn’t set off any alarms.”

  Fitz walked over to his bench and scribbled something on a piece of paper. It was the name Taylor and an address in Weehawken, New Jersey.

  “Touch base with this guy. His name’s Taylor. He was an NSA analyst when I worked there. I use the term 'analyst' loosely. He was more an ethical hacker than anything. He retired roughly the same time as me and then went freelance. If you tell him I sent you, he’ll hook you up. He’s probably the only person you can trust with this sort of stuff.”

  Hank took the paper and started to walk out of the garage.

  “Thanks for the beer Fitz” Hank shouted.

  “Any time Hank. There’s plenty more here when you’re ready.” Fitz watched him drive off into the distance. He had an uneasy feeling about this one. He did wonder if he would see his friend again.

  The next morning Hank had driven up to Weehawken to the address Fitz gave him. He made contact with Taylor who, after Hank explained the situation to him, was actually physically excited about taking the names and seeing what he could find on the internet. He was a strange chap. He lived in quite a nice apartment overlooking a riverside park, so he obviously wasn’t hurting for money. Hank did wonder to himself if this was the right person to be speaking to, but he had complete faith in his friend’s advice so was happy to take the chance. The meeting between them both didn’t take too long as all Taylor needed was the names and Hank was back on the road again, heading into Manhattan to Federal Plaza. That was the only place he could view a Level 9 record.

  Although driving in Manhattan was a complete nightmare, he was thankful he had the company car and not Laura. The lights and siren systems helped a lot on making progress through the traffic. The biggest bonus was that he could park it outside the building without it getting towed away. When he got inside, he went to the hot-desking area and logged onto the computer. Hank knew that he wouldn’t have access to a Level 9 report and would need authorisation from on high to do so. He called his boss in Morristown and explained the situation. For some reason, the boss wasn’t as understanding as he was the day before. This was because it would need authorisation from a director to grant him access. Reluctantly, he said he would make the call and to sit tight until he called him back.

  While he waited, Hank had a look at his email from the CSI team regarding the true identity of the Mercedes. It turned out that there was no trace anywhere on the system. They couldn’t explain where it came from. The chassis number appeared to be false as there was no record of it on the DMV database. The worrying thing was that they had contacted Mercedes and they had no trace of it on their manufacturing system. It was basically a ghost car. This made Hank’s mind wander even further.

  “Who could do that? Who had the authority and the systems to alter those computer databases?”

  As he pondered the thought, his cell phone started vibrating. It was the boss. The conversation was short and sweet. Hank had been granted access to the file, however, only that file. He wasn’t to deviate into any other Level 9 files while he was in there. Hank acknowledged the limitations set and headed off to the archive room on the ninth floor to view it. When he got there, he was met by the receptionist who pointed him towards the stand-alone computer at the end of the hall. He had a notebook with him to write down details but she took it from him. He was allowed to take nothing in with him, including his cell phone. When he sat down at the computer, he read on the screen that the file to be viewed was prepared for Special Agent Hank Richards. They had made sure that he didn’t need to go poking around to find it. Hank clicked on the flashing 'View' icon and the file opened up on the screen. What was shown was quite a traumatic experience for him. He started sweating, and had shortness of breath. He started to feel really light-headed. Before long, Hank was slumped over the key board unconscious. He had fainted!!!

  The details on the screen read:

  Laura Richards

  Born 12/04/1976

  Confirmed NSA Agent

  Killed in the line of duty.

  Next of kin: Hank Richards.

  Chapter 11

  The day out

  The fresh breeze from the Potomac River enhanced Mia’s senses. That, combined with the greenery of the trees and the smell of the cut grass would normally equate to a perfect day. Kyle had taken her out to Jones Point Park on the outskirts of Alexandria. For what it was worth, she enjoyed being there. It calmed her thoughts and relaxed her. What she was finding more frustrating was that she was still in her chair and helpless. She had come to the conclusion that this man who claimed to be her husband, was in fact a carer looking after her for the Arena. Because the serum hadn’t totally worked this time round, Mia felt more alive than she had ever done. Unknown to most, Mia was actually an extremely intelligent person before her accident. Her thought processes were methodical and calculated. There wasn’t much she couldn’t work out. That’s why she passed all of her courses in the past with distinction.

  Kyle had stopped and sat down on a bench overlooking the Potomac and had positioned Mia so she could see the view as well. The landscape wasn’t what she was interested in though. As they sat there, Mia was working out her best course of action, although she did acknowledge that it would be difficult. She needed to get back inside the Arena. If this serum was beginning to fail and she could complete another task for them, hopefully the next injection would have more of an effect on her and possibly help her with a plan of escape. But how would she do it?

  As she sat there, apart from the breeze and the rustling of the leaves in the trees, there were no distracting noises to take away the moment that Mia was having. She needed to make a part of her body move! If she could, she might panic her husband into taking her back to the Arena for tests. They would need to 'wake her up' for that. She concentrated hard on her hand. She was willing her fingers to move.

  She was screaming in her head “MOVE, DAMN IT, MOVE!!”

  But there was no response from her body. She was straining that hard that she actually made her eyes water. Her husband leant over and wiped the tears off her cheek. As he did this, Mia stared at him. If looks could kill, he’d by laying on a slab by now! She looked at him so intently, she made him feel that there was something wrong. As usual, he didn’t say anything. He just stood up and started to push her back towards the parking lot and their minivan. Mia wasn’t one to totally give up on an idea but, as luck would have it, she wouldn’t have to put herself through that frustration again.

  On the way to the minivan, her husband’s cell phone rang. He stopped pushing her for a minute while he answered it.

  “Hello Doctor Cooper” she heard him say.

  “What did he want this time?” she thought.

  There was a lot of “Yes. Hmm. No. Yes” being said. Before long, he was back pushing her chair towards the minivan. After a few mi
nutes she was locked back into place and they were back on the road.

  Out of nowhere, her husband announced “We’re heading into DC to the rehab centre Mia. Dr Cooper wants to do some more testing on your motor functions as soon as possible.” “

  That’s a lie,” she thought to herself.

  She didn’t really mind as they obviously wanted her to do another job which fitted in with her plan to break free.

  She needed to rest so she fell asleep in her chair and before she knew it, she was being pushed along the sterile corridor of the Arena again. The next couple of hours went like clockwork, however this time it was different. Her husband actually came into the Arena with her. Before handing her over to the medical team, her husband took her into a bathroom and bathed and cleaned her. She didn’t remember him ever doing this before but, if her memory was being wiped each time, she realised she wouldn’t remember it anyway. After about half an hour, she was back on the medical bed in the Arena with the bright lights beaming down on her once again. She could see Dr Cooper at the podium talking to the same group of people that was there last time. Mia couldn’t really see their faces but could see that a few of them were wearing military dress uniforms. As she concentrated on them, she felt a sharp prick in her upper arm. The injection had been given.

  Within a few minutes, Mia was standing up at the side of the bed and was approached by a man dressed in a sharply tailored suit.

  He held a photograph in front of her and said “This is subject number one.”

  She looked at it and memorised it.

  “This photograph is only six hours old so there will be no real change to his physical appearance. He will be having coffee tomorrow evening at six o'clock, outdoors at The Cafe in Brooklyn Bridge Park as he always does. He is always alone and takes a seat in the chairs along the waterfront outside the venue.”