As they walked into his office, John discovered the source of the foul odor. An older man was sitting in his chair with his feet on the desk. Next to his feet was a stack of file folders from John’s locked file drawer. John’s eyes shifted to the man, who held a red folder in his hand. He was reviewing the contents with rapt attention. Once again, a wave of anger swept over John as he balled his hands into fists.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my files?” John asked.
The older man didn’t immediately reply. He finished reading the document, set it down on the desk, and crossed his hands on his lap. Without looking up at John, the man retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. With great care, he removed a single cigarette and held it between two fingers. He then fished a lighter out of the same pocket with his other hand. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he lit it carefully. Taking a deep breath, he sucked in the smoke, seeming to enjoy the flavor. He then exhaled in a long, slow fashion. The smoke hit its mark, blowing directly into John’s face, causing him to cough.
“Your files, Dr. Randall? I think you’re mistaken. These files are the property of Alpha Genetics.”
Brushing away the smoke in front of him, John scanned his office. One of his escorts was standing in the corner watching him. The other was standing in the doorway, blocking his exit route. The third man was nowhere to be seen. Files were stacked on the rolling chairs in front of his desk and the contents of his drawers were scattered about. Clearly these men had turned his office inside out looking for something, but what? John turned his attention back to the man sitting at the desk with his head cocked to one side. He looked at John wistfully, sucking his cigarette. John noticed a file that he didn’t recognize near the man’s feet.
“Mind me asking what’s in that file?” John asked.
The man’s eyes narrowed as he continued puffing. Finally, he gestured theatrically with his hands and said, “This file? Nothing you should concern yourself with, John. You don’t mind if I call you John, do you? I know that bothers some professorial types. After all, I’m sure you spent a lot of time and effort earning your title … Doctor.”
He’s trying to goad me.
John choked back his anger and said calmly, “John’s fine.” He smiled.
“Very good. As I’m sure you’ve already deduced, my associates and I are looking for something. Something I thought we would find in your office, but it appears that it’s not here.” He paused to take another drag of his cigarette. “I was hoping you might be able to help me find it.”
“What are you looking for?”
“A file from one of your patients. A man named Timothy Cobb.”
John flinched at the mention of the name.
“Ah, so you know him,” the older man said.
John blinked, unsure of what to say. His research on Timothy was classified. Aside from Jacob, only a handful of people knew about him. Suddenly, recent events assumed an even darker undertone and John realized that he was in serious danger.
“How do you know about Timothy?”
The cigarette man stared directly into John’s eyes, “Dr. Randall, I’ve been more than patient with you, but I don’t believe you understand the gravity of the situation. You’re not in a position to ask questions. I want that file and I want it now. Where is it?” His eyes turned to the guard in the corner whose hand disappeared under his coat.
“It’s in the third office down the hall on the left. It’s in a locked steel case file,” John said, his eyes fixed on the guard. “Would you like me to get it for you?”
“I don’t believe that will be necessary.” The man nodded to the guard behind John, who disappeared down the hall. He then shifted his gaze back to other guard, who slowly withdrew a gun from under his coat. John realized that he had only seconds.
He kicked the rolling chair in front of his desk directly at the guard with the gun. Stunned, the man buckled over as the chair struck him in the legs. John grabbed the unfamiliar folder from the desk, spun, and sprinted down the hallway, grasping the empty metal tray from the surgical cart in the hall as he passed by.
He raised it back as he approached the third office. As if on cue, the second guard emerged from the office, gun drawn. John brought the tray down on his outstretched arm, knocking the gun loose as a shot ricocheted down the corridor. The tray bounced upward and John swung it directly into the guard’s unprotected face. The sound of metal crushing the man’s nose was sickening. He careened wildly backward into the wall.
John dropped the tray, and grabbed the fire alarm as he ran by. The dizzying sound of sirens and the flash of strobe lights flooded the hallway as John raced to the stairwell. He could hear shouting and footsteps down the hall by his office. He punched the emergency lever releasing the door lock to the stairs. He burst through the door and slammed it shut as gunfire ripped into the metal on the other side. The reinforced steel door held.
John leapt down several stairs at a time, never turning to look over his shoulder. He reached the third floor landing just as the stairwell door on the fourth floor burst open. He heard footsteps ringing from the stairs above. John’s heart pounded as he continued down to the parking garage. Gunshots echoed through the stairwell, ricocheting off the metal railing. John flinched, his foot missing a step. He nearly tumbled out of control, but caught himself by grabbing the rail with his left hand, but not before he twisted his ankle.
The injury burned like fire with every step. John reached the second floor, the heavy footfalls of his pursuers getting closer. He pushed on, knowing that delay meant death. He made the last turn onto the first floor landing, turning wide and striking the wall with his back. He saw the first guard, who raised his gun and fired a short burst of rounds. They struck the wall where John had been just moments before.
John reached the exit door and flung it open. Another man stood in the doorway. John froze momentarily, then recognized him as an employee from another building, John pushed past him, causing the man to stagger backward.
“Watch where you’re going!”
John sprinted for his parking space, hearing the man yelling again as the door to the parking garage opened once more. The shouting stopped suddenly as gunfire raked the parking garage. John turned a corner, looking back to see the man lying dead as the gunmen sprinted past him.
John tried desperately to remove his keys from his pocket while not breaking stride. He fumbled his keys, nearly dropping them, but managed to catch them in mid-air on the run. His FJ Cruiser came into view and he hit the fob, causing the taillights to blink, letting him know the doors were unlocked.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw the first man rounding the corner, his gun raised. John ducked reflexively as gunfire erupted around him. He reached his car and flung the door open. Bullets tore into the side panel as he jumped into his truck. Shoving the key into the ignition, John started the engine and threw the truck into reverse. Gunfire shattered his rear window as he sped backward toward the first gunman. He could see the man’s eyes go wide as his car smashed into him. John hit the brakes, threw the truck into drive, then peeled away just as the second gunman turned the corner and unleashed another barrage of gunfire.
John sped forward, his driver’s side door slamming shut. As he wound up the concrete ramp, the guard shack came into view. John saw several armed security men taking careful aim at his truck. More gunshots tore through his FJ. He ducked as he approached the guard shack, nearly crushing one of them as he roared by. Sitting upright, his body tensed as he watched metal pylons slowly emerging from the ground in the driveway ahead of him.
John punched the accelerator. The truck charged forward, striking the barriers as they were several inches above the asphalt. His FJ bounced wildly as the bottom scraped against the rising bollards. John struggled to keep the vehicle under control as he was knocked around the cabin. The back of the truck finally cleared the barrier and John steered the FJ onto the access road. He glanced over his shoul
der to see two pursuit cars stuck behind the fully extended pylons. The first driver was hanging out the window, screaming at a man in the guard booth to lower the barrier.
John grinned, but his elation was brief. As he turned forward, he saw several cars arranged in a neat line ten yards ahead. He looked past them to see a red stoplight and realized that he was going too fast to stop in time. He swerved to the left into oncoming traffic as his FJ shot into the intersection. A large box truck bore down on him, the driver screaming obscenities as he leaned on his horn. John steered hard to the right as his truck fishtailed out of control. The box truck clipped the back of the FJ, sending John spinning in the other direction. He banged his head into the window frame, as his truck came to rest in the middle of the intersection, facing oncoming traffic.
His head throbbed with pain as he sat dumbfounded in the FJ. The sound of cars honking and screeching tires was dizzying. John shook his head to clear the foggy veil. Cars zigzagged around him as he brushed his hand against the side of his temple, feeling a warm slick of blood trickling down his forehead. He reached down and buckled his seatbelt.
Glancing to his right, he realized that his pursuers had gotten the barriers down and were now barreling after him. John threw his FJ into reverse and gunned the engine. The truck shot out of the intersection.
He had little choice but to drive backward as the black sedans gained on him. In less than a minute, the first sedan caught him. The car’s passenger window opened and a man leaned out holding a handgun and took careful aim. John tapped his brakes, causing the FJ to dip. He then throttled the engine and pulled away just as the driver of the black sedan braked his own car. The suddenness of the stop caused the man with the gun to tumble from the sedan and roll into traffic. John heard the sickening sound of bones crunching as another car drove over the would-be shooter.
The first sedan settled behind and to his left as another took a position to the right and in front of John’s truck, the three vehicles forming a wedge with John’s FJ in the middle. The first sedan accelerated and swerved at John’s rear tire while the second sedan aimed for his front tire. They were trying to spin his car. John mashed down on the accelerator. The truck lurched backward. The first sedan swung by, scraping the bumper of John’s car.
The driver, anticipating the impact with the FJ, over-steered the car, ramming into another vehicle in traffic. The impact of the collision slowed the sedan, which was rammed in the rear by an oncoming commuter bus traveling at high speed. The car crumpled like paper as metal, plastic, and rubber debris showered the road. The second sedan, now squarely to the left of the FJ, bounced into John’s driver’s side door, sending the truck several feet into the fast lane. John fought the steering wheel, forcing his FJ back into its lane, narrowly avoiding a red BMW.
John glanced in his rearview, trying to gauge the distance between his truck and the next car in front of him. He was greeted with solid red brake lights a hundred yards ahead. Traffic was slowing. He shot a look at his remaining pursuer. The driver looked at him and grinned broadly, realizing that traffic was stopping.
The sedan was pacing John now, blocking him in and preventing him from exiting the expressway. John slowed his FJ, but the sedan slowed as well. He tried accelerating, but the sedan kept pace, adjusting to his every move. The two vehicles were in lockstep. John searched the horizon, desperately looking for a way out. He noticed a construction zone on the median. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He waited and timed a lane change, squeezing his FJ between a silver Audi and a blue Honda. With traffic slowing even more, John wasn’t sure he could reach the construction area. He estimated it was less than a quarter mile away. He looked over at his pursuer who now understood his plan and was trying to change lanes as well.
Come on, just a little farther.
As his FJ slowed, he could now see an opening in the construction barricades for work trucks to access the site. Traffic slowed to a crawl; then stopped. He wasn’t going to make it to the opening. John turned back to his pursuer, but couldn’t find the sedan. He heard honking cars and screaming drivers. His eyes darted back and forth, finally finding the sedan stopped in the road behind him. He searched for the driver and heard the sound of pounding on the passenger side of the FJ.
“Open this fucking door!”
John’s head spun around to see the angry face of the sedan driver, pounding on his door, his handgun in plain view.
“Open it now!”
The driver pointed the weapon directly at John’s face. He was trapped. He held up his hands and nodded his surrender. The gunman held his aim as John reached across the cab of the FJ. At the last possible moment, he ducked and gunned the truck in reverse, striking the silver Audi directly behind him. He rose just in time to see the gunman lurch toward the door. John flipped open the door, striking the gunman.
He shifted the FJ into drive and slammed the car in front of him. Shifting into reverse again, he turned his steering wheel and gunned the engine. Clipping the rear corner of the Audi, John’s FJ scraped by the car and through the opening in the construction barricades, his passenger door shearing off in the process.
He slammed the brakes. His knuckles ached from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Sweat streamed down his face, stinging his eyes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced out through the barricade, searching for the gunman. His front windshield exploded inward, sending shards of glass raining onto the seat and floorboards. The sedan driver was running directly at him, firing round after round into the front of his FJ.
John ducked, shifted into drive, and sped directly at his assailant until he heard the thud of metal hitting the man. The sedan driver’s upper body flew over the hood of the truck, but quickly bounced back onto the ground in front of the FJ. John hit the brakes but couldn’t stop before running over his assailant.
He sat in the driver’s seat, blinking uncontrollably, his fingers digging into the steering wheel. His survival instincts finally overpowered the state of shock, and John drove again, running along the inside of the construction barriers. The wind bathed his face as it rushed in through the smashed windshield and missing door. Eventually, he found another opening in the barricade and merged back into freeway traffic. The other drivers cut a wide berth for the damaged FJ and its bewildered driver.
John took the first off-ramp, making a series of turns to become lost in the maze of suburbia. He pulled onto a quiet side street, checking to see if anyone was watching him. Finally convinced that he wasn’t being followed, he pulled his broken truck to the curb. He slumped over the steering wheel trying to gather his thoughts. It was clear now that what had happened at his office was significantly more than a simple theft of files. Someone was after his research and must have taken Jacob as well. But what were they looking for? With sudden clarity, John realized that he might have the answer.
He popped off his seatbelt and unzipped his jacket. His hands fumbled beneath his coat, searching for the file he had taken. He felt the folder and breathed a sigh of relief. He still had it, but he didn’t dare stop here to look. He had to get somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would know to look for him. He thought for a moment and suddenly realized where he could go.
Before driving away, he reached under the front console, searching for something he had placed there recently. He located it and removed it from its hiding place. He stared down at the small container, no larger than an eyeglass case. It was a vial of his serum. Grasping it tightly, he realized that it was the only tangible part of his research he possessed.
I might need this.
He tucked it safely into his pocket.
In the distance, John heard the wailing of police sirens. If the authorities caught him, he would go to prison for taking the lives of two men. The thought of killing his assailants suddenly overwhelmed him and John leaned out the door and vomited onto the street. The convulsions came in waves until only clear bile ran from his mouth. John wiped his lips with the back of
his shaking hand and sank back into the driver’s seat.
He started his FJ and sped away, heading for the one place where he knew he would be safe.
Chapter Nine
Nassau, Bahamas
The FBI Sub-Office Nassau’s area of responsibility includes the Bahamas and the United Kingdom Overseas Territories (Anguilla, Bermuda, the Cayman Islands, Montserrat, and the Turks and Caicos Islands). In other words, for a young, single agent, being assigned to this office was like winning the lottery. Beautiful people in minimal clothing enjoying the balmy climate was the picture of paradise. Unfortunately, yesterday had shattered those illusions.
A break-in at the field office, culminating with the murder of a field agent, had left the remaining team in shock. Things like that simply didn’t happen here. Except it had happened, and Agent Rafael Hernandez had paid with his life. The reason for the break-in was unclear, but the murderer had accessed the Agency’s restricted database. As if this weren’t bad enough, it now appeared that the culprit was going to walk free.
Field Agent Gabriella Gutierrez paced the floor, shaking her head in disbelief as she listened to Agent-in-Charge Richard Spence give orders.
“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” she said when he had finished. “We catch this scumbag who broke into the Sub-Office, accessed classified information—the nature of which we still don’t know—and murdered a field agent, and we’re just going to let him walk? We’re the FBI for God’s sake! We don’t just let felons kill agents and then stroll off into the sunset!”
The Bermuda Connection (A Nick Randall Novel Book 2) Page 4
