by Kipjo Ewers
Armitage rattled off another question, “So she met her husband here in Texas?”
“Correct, late husband is from Houston, they went to the same college; they got married and resided there,” Mark did not need Google or an FBI database with Dustin at his side.
Mark then began to set up his ability to strategize ignoring the fact that he was dealing with an individual that could possibly be on a superhuman level, “So she’s either going back to Houston, or heading back to New York...but just in case find out where else she traveled to…vacation…business…whatever. Did anyone see her bust through that wall last night from the outside?”
“You mean like the NCADP?” Dustin scoffed, “Bro, this is a red state. A local news team was in the front doing a story about her execution, she broke out from the other side, so no one saw anything, nor did they get any footage. We checked.”
Mark nodded continuing his course of action, “Then we need to keep this contained inside here, speak to the Warden and the Chief of Police, tell them to convey to their people that no one is to talk to anyone about what went down here, failure to comply means being charged with obstructing a Federal investigation. Last thing we need is mass hysteria in the streets. What are the chemicals they use to administer the execution again?”
Dustin quickly reached into his jacket pulling out his mini-note pad running through the notes he took earlier, “Usual stuff… Sodium thiopental used to induce unconsciousness, pancuronium bromide for paralysis and respiratory arrest, and potassium chloride to stop the heart.”
“Chemical residue to the lab, I want to confirm if that’s what they really are; on top of what she ate for her last meal.” Mark ordered.
“You might want to speak to this guy over here,” Dustin motioned to another agent who brought forth one of the watch tower guards stationed earlier that morning; “This is Sergeant Michael Wexler, a guard and tower watchman #2 of the four towers, also a former Army Ranger and Sniper…”
“Army…infantry…,” Mark addressed a fellow military man, “What can you tell me that I don’t already know solider?”
Sergeant Wexler responded as a man still military forged despite not wearing the colors, “After the escape inmate exited the building from the eighth floor of the facility destroying the squad car she crashed onto on the way down with Office Wilford killing him; she hit the quad going for a run. I tracked and hit the target with an Armor Piercing M2 round to the back of her skull…”
“What are you doing with that type of round in this facility?” an inquisitive Mark asked.
Sergeant Wexler responded with a true soldier’s only answer, “Being prepared for anything sir…”
Mark nodded, “Continue…”
“She went down hard,” Sergeant Wexler continued with his assessment, “But was up again in less than a minute…I believe the round barely pierced her skull. I then proceeded to fire a total of eight rounds after that hitting her in different parts of her skull, neck, and chest when she turned to face me, and that was on top of the other rounds fired from the other three tower guards. Each round after the first initial one was ineffective right up until she threw a patrol car at me and I had to bail from my nest.”
Mark tried to wrap his brain around what the sergeant just said, “She threw…a car…at you?”
“Yes sir,” Sergeant Wexler responded without hesitation, “The smashed up Charger outside buried by part of the tower. I believe it was on instinct…since it was the closest thing to her at the time, the shot also appeared to be lucky…she seemed disoriented all the way till she smashed through the courtyard wall.”
Mark wondered if Sergeant Wexler was superhuman, “You don’t seem the least bit shaken…”
To which Sergeant Wexler smirked, “During my tours I’ve seen a lot of things sir…nothing much shakes me…”
Mark gave a slight smirk, and nodded again out of respect, “Stick around…May have some more questions for you…is that a helicopter I hear?”
Armitage looked at Mercer who shrugged his shoulders not clear what was going on in the madhouse they were in as they walked to one of the windows to see a jet black twin engine Sikorsky private helicopter descend into the court yard of the battle ridden Mountain View Unit.
“Who the hell?” Mark asked with an irritated twisted look on his face not ready for any more surprises.
Dustin shrugged matching Mark’s expression of irritation, “Damn if I know…”
As the helicopter landed sending dust and fresh smoke from an ousted fire everywhere, the door opened and the automatic steps folded down. A tall well built man in black (suit that is) sporting horn rim glasses and a buzz cut stepped out first. He waited as a medium built clean-shaven man with a two hundred dollar haircut and a ten thousand dollar light grey suit stepped out looking around at the mayhem all around him as officers, soldiers, and agents looked back at him in bewilderment.
Additional suits all in black, stepped out. The last to exit the helicopter was a near dwarf like elderly man who had a Santa Claus disposition to him with his clear bald head, long white beard and bifocals; his suit looked cheaper than Armitage’s and reminiscent of the 1950’s. Following him were three people in lab type coats carrying silver cases of equipment appeared to be his assistants.
“Who is that?” Dustin sneered like a wolf defending his territory for an invading pack.
“Don’t know,” Mark began to grind his teeth, “But I smell asshole…”
Armitage watched as the mystery man looked up in his direction, gave what appeared to be an obnoxious smile and proceeded to lead his team into the prison.
Not liking the look he gave him, Mark motioned to his partner, “Five bucks says where he’s headed…”
“Lethal injection room,” Dustin said filling in the blanks.
“Let’s get up there and greet our mystery guest…make sure he doesn’t piss all over our crime scene,” Mark gestured to Dustin.
“This’ll be fun…” Dustin snorted as they left the second floor taking the elevator to the eighth, which housed the lethal injection room. Once they got onto the floor, Armitage could see that the damage there was worse than the damage outside.
Armitage looked around to see walls obliterated and steel doors ripped from their hinges like tin foil; his feet kicked around shell casings, which littered the floor from shotguns, semi-automatics, and handguns along with used tear gas and smoke grenades. The lingering smell of the gas made his eyes water a bit as he looked around in disbelief; having seen enough, him and Mercer marched themselves to the lethal injection room to see their own team originally in there standing outside the room, while the mystery team was now inside taking pictures and samples. Mr. Mystery himself stood there in the middle of the room with his back turned and arms folded taking it all in.
The scene pissed Mark off to no end, “What the hell is going on?”
A now nervous F.B.I forensics agent responded to Mark, “Uh…the gentleman there identified himself as a Director, told us our services were no longer needed, to pack up and leave.”
Mark looked as if he wanted to tear the agent’s head off with his bare hands, “Director of what?!”
Armitage palmed the agent out of the way before he could respond. Before he could enter the room, a solid six foot five frame bruiser of a man stepped in his way. The one that first exited the helicopter with the clean look down to his crew cut, and the M.I.B ensemble five thousand dollars more expense than both Armitage and Mercer’s suits combined.
Not impressed Mark identified himself, “F.B.I…which means get the “Fuck” out my way…before I “Beat” you within an “Inch” of your life…”
The man in black not impressed responded, “I know who you are Special Agent Armitage, you and your teams’ services are no longer needed here.”
“And who the hell are you?” Dustin chimed in backing his partner up.
The man in black pulled out his credentials identifying himself, “Special Agent Stanley Slater.”
Mercer eyed along with Armitage the shiny chrome black and silver badge with Slater’s ID that identified him as a Special Agent of the United States Government. It however did not identify his division or branch.
“Never heard of you “Special Agent Slater,” Mark narrowed his eyes.
To which Agent Slater responded, “And you never will; all you have to know is my division and credentials trump yours as far as this case is concern. Now I will say it again, you and your team are officially relieved of duty.”
Mark sarcastically scratched his chin as he gestured to Dustin who looked ready to pounce on Agent Slater. He then wagged his finger asking his friend a question, “What was that cool line from that crazy robot movie we watched at your house with your kids before the boxing match on cable last month?”
“You mean the one where the robots change into stuff while hanging out with the little half Jewish kid?” Dustin returned building on Mark’s skit.
“Yeah,” Mark snapped his fingers, “When the solider put his gun in the face of the doofus with the Superman looking shirt and the Aloha draws and said, “We don’t take orders from people that don’t exist”.
“Yeah that’s right,” Dustin smiled then turned to Agent Slater now grilling him, “We don’t take orders from assholes that don’t exist.”
“Is there a problem Agent Slater?” The question came from the man in the grey suit standing in the middle of the lethal injection room stopping the ensuing brawl that appeared to about to take place between Armitage, Mercer, and the muscle in black.
Armitage pushed pass Slater to confront his apparent boss, as Agent Slater continued to have a stare down match with Mercer who was only an inch shorter than he was and ready to go.
“Yeah, you can say there’s a problem”, Mark fired at the man in grey, “This is an official F.B.I investigation not M.I.B…so what the hell are you doing in my crime scene?”
The man in the grey suit finally introduced himself to Armitage who did not really care at this point, “Director Arthur Rosen…I am here running my own investigation with my team.”
“Who is your “team”? What department do you come from?” Mark demanded to know.
“Unfortunately I cannot divulge that to you Agent Armitage,” Director Rosen said with a half apologetic tone, “What I can tell you is that my department is better equipped to handle this situation than you are. So you should just stand down and allow us to work.”
“What situation may that be?” Mark pretended to be stupid to what was going on.
“No need for cynicism Agent Armitage,” Director Rosen smirked, “You know very well what the situation is…”
Mark moved closer to the Director giving him his trademark fear of God look, “This is what I do know, you fly in here on your fancy helicopter outside, with your “team” and your Jason Bourne reject over there impeding in a Federal Bureau investigation and contaminating my crime scene. You flash a badge I’ve never seen before along with a suspect title, and you refuse to tell me what department or organization within our United States Government you claim you hail from so I can check your so-called credentials. That gives me probable cause to arrest you, your whole party, and throw you into a deep dark cell until you do decide to tell me or until I can verify if you’re bullshitting me or not.”
Director Rosen openly laughed at Armitage’s attempt to intimidate him, “I can assure you that won’t happen.”
“You think not?” Mark advanced forward again with the intention of yoking the good Director up in his high priced suit, and slap some cuffs on him to prove who was really in charge when his ear caught the sound of a firearm drawn from a leather holster. Part of him thought he would actually see something shiny and high tech like from out of the movies. Instead, Agent Slater, who had drawn on him, held in his hand a standard issued Glock 23 sidearm with laser sighting pointed at the side of his head.
A now livid Mercer stunned that Agent Slater would have the gall to attempt such a thing pulled out his side arm four seconds later pointing it at the Agent’s head. Agent Slater however does not flinch from the apparent threat to his life.
“Drop it asshole! Drop it now!” Dustin barked forcing his agents along with the agents who accompanied Director Rosen as well as local authorities who were in the vicinity to go for their service weapons.
Armitage had been in some messed up situations, but this was clearly insanity on top of insanity, any second he thought he was going to wake up from a very bad dream, except he kept catching a whiff of the Director’s early morning coffee breath which meant this was really happening.
“That also is not going to happen Agent Mercer,” Director Rosen responded.
“Instead what’s going to happen is Agent Slater is going to shoot and kill your partner and friend of twenty-four years while you who haven’t fired your service fire arm in ten years watch. He will then probably kill you despite your current “advantage” on him, and anyone else who happens to draw on him till finally I give the order for him to stop,” Director Rosen continued to explain, “We will then most likely be arrested by whoever is still alive on your team, or the local authority present. We’ll probably spend no more than three hours in a holding cell before released with no charges, while you and your partner share toe tags in the county morgue. Your family, friends, and associates will mourn and bury you, and nothing else further will come of this incident. Or Agent Slater kills your partner, you kill him, arrest me, I still spend three hours in a cell, and you get to watch me released with no charges brought against me, while your partner here lies in the morgue with a toe tag.”
The Director then proposed another option as he stared down Armitage, “The other alternative is you lower your weapon, we take what we came for, leave, and in a couple of hours you will receive a phone call from your Executive Assistant Director Douglas Edward King, who will tell you he just received a call from his boss. Telling him, he received a call from higher authorities within our government ordering you to neither engage nor interfere with us ever again. In either scenario I just presented I will be proven correct, you decide which one plays out.”
“How about the scenario where I blow your goddamn head off after killing this son of a bitch?” bit back Dustin.
“Interesting scenario,” confirmed the Director, “But in that one your partner is still dead…can you live with that? And if you’re thinking of just shooting Agent Slater outright and dealing with the consequences later…please remember there is a gun also pointed at your head.”
Mercer was reminded by the clicking sound of a Sig Sauer P226‘s hammer cocked back by a female agent on Director Rosen’s team. She held it steadily trained at his head from behind. Two more of the Director’s agents covered her in a standoff with two of Armitage and Mercer’s agents along with a couple of Gatesville’s finest in the hallway. Checkmate all around in the Director’s favor.
In all of the commotion, the short Santa looking man now in a white forensics lab coat with his three-person team appeared huddle together with nervous looks on their faces as it was apparent they were in the middle of a Mexican stand-off.
He swallowed hard as he announced with his thick German accent, “We have acquired the samples…”
“Thank you Doctor,” acknowledged the Director as he now gave Mark the “your move” look.
Armitage locked eyes with Mercer communicating that despite they were the designated law and order in the vicinity, it was best to fight another day. Armitage had no fear of a gun pointed at him, but Dustin had a family. Although Dustin also did not give a damn either about getting into a fight, testing the arrogant son of bitch’s prophesy was not worth agent blood, especially his friend, and even though he did not show it, the fact that he knew so much about them unnerved Mark.
“Stand down everyone…stand down,” Dustin motioned to the other agents under him as everyone slowly lowered their weapons except for Agent Slater and his agents who continued to keep their guns raised; Mercer kept
his finger on the trigger ready to go despite the gun pointed at the back of his head.
