Vital Force

by Trevor Scott

  “Listen. Anything goes down here and you better stay put or I’ll hunt your ass down.”

  “You got me cuffed to the door. Where could I go?”

  Good point. Fisher was confused by the woman’s actions. Just before coming here, the Asian woman had stopped at a used music shop, pounded on the door for a moment, and then, more than a little pissed off that the place was closed, had hopped back into the Trooper and sped off. “What in the hell is she up to, Cliff?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Ya fucked her.”

  “Yeah, but she mostly did the fucking. It’s not like she gave me any information. The flow went from me to her and not the other way.”

  “Hang on.”

  A man and woman walked past and seemed to stare for too long. Must have been the couple, Fisher thought.

  Fisher kept his eyes on the door to the brick building, only shifting away to scan the Trooper against the curb in front of them.

  It must have been at one of those brief moments when his eyes had turned away when she came out the front door, because when he first saw her she was skipping down the stone steps and then getting into the Trooper.

  Fisher’s phone rang. Picking up, he said, “Yeah.” He listened for a moment, watching the brake lights on the Trooper shine brightly. “I can’t get the cuffs off and still follow her. As you can see, she’s leaving right now.” He listened and put the car in gear, pulling out after the Trooper. “Gotcha.” Then he flipped the phone into his pocket.

  “You tryin’ to get rid of me?” Cliff said.

  “Not now.”

  Fisher followed the Trooper around a corner, keeping way back. They drove up the hill underneath I-5 and then north, parallel to the freeway.

  “Where the hell are you going, Bitch?” Fisher said to himself.

  Cliff sat up in the back seat. “I told you. The airport.”

  “She’s goin’ in the opposite direction,” Fisher said.

  The phone rang and Fisher tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away. Finally he picked up and listened. “Shit! We should have taken her there.” Pause. “Gotcha.” He hung up.

  “What?” Cliff asked.

  “Your friend just killed two people in that apartment. A young Chinese couple.”

  Cliff sank into his seat.

  Fisher kept the car back, not wanting her to see them, yet on one level he hoped she’d pull over like she had in Portland. Give him another chance to take her out. But he knew they needed more from her. Needed to find out who employed her. Without that knowledge, all of his work over the past few months would have been for no reason. All that time schmoozin’ with computer geeks a lesson in futility.

  The Trooper turned right up a hill and picked up speed. When it reached a heavily treed area by Seattle University, it slowed and pulled over to a curb.

  Fisher held back, took a right on the first street on the edge of a campus park and then pulled over and hit the lights. He was careful not to put pressure on the brakes to give away his position.

  Almost a block away, through the trees, Fisher watched the woman get out of the Trooper and hurry into the campus park, her gate purposeful. Was she going to kill someone else? This had to stop.

  He pulled his phone out and called his Portland boss, relayed his position, and told him he needed back-up at this location.

  “What do you mean not yet,” Fisher said loudly. “She just killed two people in Seattle. Who knows what the hell she’s up to now.” He listened for a moment, his head nodding agreement. “That’s good news.” A pause. “She what? She’s crazy. Right. Gotcha. Give me her number.” He listened carefully now, his eyes closed for a moment to memorize the sequence of numbers. “Got it. Thanks.”

  Fisher hung up and returned his phone to his pocket.

  “Was that about your friend?” Cliff asked. “She okay?”

  Fisher tried to ignore the little puke in the back seat, but he just wouldn’t go away. Like a cockroach, he was. “Better than expected. Treated and released. Bullet missed the major artery in her arm. The Kevlar stopped the one in her chest, but she’ll have one helluva bruise.”

  “I guess large breasts come in handy,” Cliff noted.

  Fisher ignored that and checked his watch. His back-up, those who would take this annoying geek off his hands, were about five minutes out. He only hoped the Asian woman, Li, would wait at least that long before jumping back into the Trooper and heading off to who knows where.

  Where was she?

  The first indication Fisher had that something was not right happened so fast he couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

  The first bullet smashed through the rear window.

  Fisher ducked and pulled his gun in one motion. If the shooter was right outside the car, she could just walk up and it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. He had to move.

  Leaning down, he cranked over the engine and shoved it in gear. Then he hit the gas, lurching the car forward. He sat up just before crashing into the back of a truck and cranked the wheel hard to the left, running up the curb and into the park’s grassy bank.

  He jumped out and crouched behind the door.

  Nothing.

  A Chevy Impala rounded the corner and headed toward them. He jumped out into the street, aiming his gun at the driver until he jammed his brakes and stopped.

  Running to the driver, Fisher realized it was his back-up, the agent dressed in homeless garb.

  “What’s going on?” the Agency officer asked.

  “The bitch just shot at us,” Fisher yelled. “Was the Trooper gone from that street?” He pointed off across the park.

  “Didn’t see it.”

  “Shit.” Fisher finally looked around at his car and saw Cliff slumped over in the back seat.

  Hurrying to him, Fisher opened the back door. There was blood everywhere. The bullet had taken off a chunk of Cliff’s head. But he checked for a pulse. He was still alive.

  By now, the homeless agent was behind him.

  “Give me your keys,” Fisher ordered.

  “But. . .”

  “Give me your fuckin’ keys and call an ambulance.”

  The man did as Fisher asked. Then he jumped into the Chevy Impala and powered the window down.

  “Stick with him. I’m going after her.”

  With that, Fisher slammed it into gear and turned the large vehicle around. When he finally hit the gas hard, he realized the extra power he had at his disposal. The car burst with energy as he came to the street where Li had left the Trooper.

  It was gone. That was actually a good thing. If she had changed vehicles, he would have had no way of tracking her.

  He called in for her position.

  34

  Shemya, Alaska

  Colonel Powers paced across the living room in the small bachelor officer’s quarters apartment across from the officers’ club. It was close to midnight, and he knew he shouldn’t be there. Yet, after his marriage had failed years ago, with no children to show for his thirteen year union, he had become more and more focused on his career in the Air Force. He knew he was taking a chance now just being in the same apartment with another officer under his command. Impropriety was as much a matter of perception as it was with the actual reality of the situation. That’s what he had always told his junior officers when they had strayed. Something told him, something deep within himself, that he needed to take this chance. Life was too short and he was too close to retirement to care that much anyway. With twenty-two years under his belt, he could walk away at any time. That’s how he felt on one level. But he still couldn’t help wonder if there was a star in his future, assuming his current mission was favorable. He had a chance to make history in Alaska.

  He glanced around the curtains at the airfield, frozen solid, the lights from the runway shining off the crystallized snow.

  When he heard a noise behind him, he turned to see her cross the room with a drink in each hand. Her dark hair flowed back in
rivulets with each step, her wide smile somewhat hesitant.

  “Two vodka martinis, Sir.” She handed one to him and raised hers for a toast. “To warmth in this frozen tundra.”

  They touched glasses and each took a short sip. Then she sat down onto the sofa, her dark eyes still penetrating what must have been total uncertainty in him. My God, he thought, this is Sara Chavez, a captain that he had first worked with in Colorado Springs when he was a rising major waiting to pin on lieutenant colonel, and she was a second lieutenant right out of ROTC.

  She patted the sofa. “Sir, please take a seat.”

  He hesitated. “Sara, try not to call me Sir. We’re off duty.”

  “That’s gonna be hard. But I’ll try.” She thought for a moment. “We’re just having a drink here. It’s not like we’re havin’ sex.”

  His heart raced with that thought, and he had to admit to himself that he had considered that option even back in Colorado while he was still married. Maybe he needed to feel alive again. Feel wanted by a woman. Especially a woman as beautiful as Sara Chavez. Reluctantly, he came around the coffee table and sat on the couch a few feet away from his captain.

  “We’ve had drinks before,” Sara said to him.

  “Official parties,” Powers said. “Once in a while with other officers out on the town. This seems different.”

  “Does that bother you? We’ve known each other for seven years. I’m thirty years old. Quite single. You’re divorced. Quite divorced. Two adults who have a lot in common.”

  “But you work for me.”

  She took a sip of her martini and set the glass on the coffee table, shaking her head. “Let’s say we work together. Let’s say we both work for the government. It’s not like I’m gonna slack off just because we’ve had a few drinks. You know me.”

  That was true. She had to be the hardest working officer he had known. A true professional. Which is one reason he had been surprised when she asked him to come here after drinks with the entire officer corps earlier in the evening. He had said yes without thinking about the consequences. Could he forget about them now?

  Her eyes seemed to glisten and penetrate him. She was a mesmerizing beauty, that was no doubt.

  He needed to change the subject. “It’s hard to believe what happened this morning,” he said.

  She let out a deep breath. “Is there any motive?”

  “OSI is investigating, along with the Agency.”

  “Really. The Agency’s involved?”

  He sipped his martini. She did a great job on that, he thought. “I don’t have to tell you the importance of this test. You’ll make major first time up just being involved with this project.”

  “You could get your first star.”

  Not if anyone found out he was fraternizing with one of his captains, he thought. “I’m not too worried about that,” he said. He didn’t want to mention that he had been offered a job by two separate defense contractors for much more than he made now. That, with a colonel’s retirement, would set him up nicely for the rest of his life. But what good was money if he couldn’t share his success with someone else?

  “Will we have to delay the test?” she asked.

  “Just a few days while the OSI investigates,” he said, and then finished off his drink and set the empty glass on the table. “You know them. They see conspiracies behind everything.”

  She quickly finished her martini to catch up with him. “Let’s have another.”

  Before he could respond, she got up and walked back to the kitchen. Damn. What a fine ass. In fact, he couldn’t find one flaw in her.

  From the other room she said, “Shaken, not stirred, right?” She poked her head around the corner and smiled.

  He caught himself smiling back.

  “I knew you had that in you,” she said, returning to the task at hand.

  Moments later she returned carrying two more drinks. This time she sat down closer to him, placing the martini in his hand, and her hand staying longer on his to make sure he had the glass.

  “Sara, can I ask you a personal question?” Colonel Powers asked.

  “Of course.”

  He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You are a beautiful woman. Why. . .”

  “Don’t I have a husband?”

  He laughed. “I was thinking boyfriend, but yeah.”

  She ran her fingers through her long hair, pushing it away from her eyes. “As you know, I had a boyfriend in Colorado for a while. It didn’t work out. He was a civilian. Didn’t understand my passion for the military. And I did work some crazy hours.”

  “And now?”

  She shrugged. “Now we’ve been here a few months, and there aren’t many men I might be interested in here.”

  “None worthy?”

  She laughed. “You could say that.”

  There was a long silence, with both uncertain how to proceed.

  “Now, can I ask you a personal question?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you going to kiss me?”

  He didn’t need any more prompting. He took her glass from her hand and set both of them on the table, and with the next move he closed in and kissed her passionately. Together they rolled back to a laying position on the sofa, still embraced.

  He ran his hands through her hair and she grabbed his strong biceps.

  They didn’t say another word as they rose and left a trail of clothes all the way to her bedroom. Seven years of sexual tension exploded from each of them. Twice in the first half hour.

  ●

  Colonel Powers lay on his side in her bed, her clock radio reading ten after one in the morning. He knew he should get back to his quarters, but he didn’t want to go. She had gotten up to go to the bathroom adjoining the bedroom.

  When she stepped out and the light shone on her beautiful smooth skin and hard body, she stood for a moment gazing at him in her bed. Her nipples were hard from the chill in the air.

  “I think you’re standing at attention,” he said to her with a laugh.

  She looked down and then rubbed each nipple seductively between her fingers. “The question is,” she said with a soft voice, “are you at attention yet?”

  He looked under the sheets, and happy with what he found, revealed himself to her.

  “Now that’s something I wanna get straight between us,” she said, moving to the bed. “Again.”

  She crawled in next to him and immediately took him in her hand. “I hope you don’t mind deferring command for a while.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant until she got on top and set herself down onto him. “No problem,” barely came from his lips as she rose up and down on him.

  35

  Washington, D.C.

  A light snow fell onto the quiet Georgetown street, the iron lamps that lined the cobblestone sidewalk still lit in the early dawn. At five a.m. there was little activity in the expensive row houses; the only sign of life came from the homes of high-ranking government officials like White House Chief of Staff Karl Oestreich, who had been making a million dollars a year before trading his job as a communications lobbyist for his considerably smaller federal paycheck.

  Sitting out front of Oestreich’s three-story brick brownstone house was a black Mercedes sedan with white government plates, the driver peering up from time to time to see if Oestreich was coming. A half a block down the road was a Chevy Suburban with two security agents, drinking coffee, and trying their best to stay awake.

  Across the street, hesitant, General Boles unbuckled his seat belt and got out of his dark blue BMW, waited with his door open as he glanced at Oestreich’s driver, and then silently closed the door and crossed the street. His Oxfords made the trek difficult, his feet slipping and almost toppling him a couple of times. Once he got to the cobblestones, the footing was much better.

  Boles pulled his trench coat tighter against the falling snow, and then waved at the Chief of Staff’s driver with his leather-gloved hand before head
ing up the steps to the front door. The driver, a former FBI special agent, lifted his strong chin with recognition, and then pointed to his watch, as if to say they would be late. Tell the old man to get his butt in gear.

  Boles smiled at the man and then continued to the thick wooden outer door. He rang the bell and waited, glancing back once toward the security SUV.

  It was the first time General Boles had been there, but he immediately noticed that Oestreich must have made a few modifications to the original building. All of the glass was security grade. The inner door, which would have been wood and glass, was solid wood and probably reinforced internally with bulletproof steel. The locks were top-notch. And the security camera, barely visible, which he looked into now, sat securely in a corner behind tinted glass. Boles smiled.

  Just as Boles was about to ring again, he saw the inner door open, with Karl Oestreich standing there in his dress pants and white T-shirt. Seconds later, Oestreich, a confused expression, opened the outer door for him.

  “Wayne. What’s up?”

  “I think your driver’s getting impatient.”

  “Screw him. Come on in.”

  The general lowered his head and followed his friend into his house, the doors closing securely behind them.

  The place was wood, stone and tile. Everything of the finest quality.

  “What’s going on?” Oestreich asked him. “Pardon me. You want a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I won’t keep you long.”

  The two of them stood staring at each other.

  Finally, General Boles said, “We lost Armstrong in China.”

  “What?” The chief of staff’s expression changed from settled to concerned. “How?”

  “He was shot retrieving Jake Adams.”

  “Is Adams all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And his information?”

  “He wasn’t able to transfer it to Armstrong,” Boles said. “We were using a contract pilot. We couldn’t expect Adams to turn it over to him.”

  The chief of staff rubbed his left temple. “Where’s Adams now?”

  “That’s the problem,” Boles said. “He was supposed to fly to Beijing and transfer what he had to our folks there.”