by Peter Darley
Executing another inverted loop, he reversed the direction of the Turbo Swan, thrust the throttle forward, and shot between the helicopters in the blink of an eye.
He reached a speed of 500 m.p.h. and returned to the location of the factory within a minute, giving himself at least ten minutes before the helicopters reached him again.
He slowed down as he flew back over the heads of the TV crew and along the street. Studying the scene before him on the monitor, he was relieved to see the women and children had been taken away from the site. He saw Belinda and Tyler were being kept back at a safe distance by the police.
David, the soldiers, Wilmot, and Garrett, were watching his approach from a position close to the Humvee. But it was only Wilmot whom Brandon wanted.
For the first time in his life, he had everything he could have wished for to live a happy life. He had Belinda, the love of his life, and their first child on the way. He had Tyler, the finest brother he could ever have hoped for. And now he had Emily, the little sister he sorely wanted to get to know and keep from harm.
He had a family and the perfect home—an untraceable cabin surrounded by snow and the beauties of nature, so far removed from the horrors of the world. Surely, it was that for which all men strived.
Only Wilmot stood in the way of it all.
Holding the Turbo Swan twenty feet in the air, he gazed at Wilmot’s expression change to a cunning grin. Wilmot said something to a private first class beside him. The young man’s face showed refusal to whatever the request was, but Wilmot crept away toward the unmanned Humvee.
“What the hell are you doing, Wilmot?”
Spicer came to the front with a bull horn raised to his mouth. “Drake. You did good today, soldier. It was an extraordinary performance, and I’ll do everything I can to ensure it’s taken into account. Don’t do anything to screw this up. Just bring that thing down so we can sort all of this out.”
Brandon felt sorely tempted to believe David, but he had no faith in the system anymore. He knew he would be at the mercy of Wilmot, who was a murderous traitor.
And then he saw Wilmot taking a rocket launcher from the back of the Humvee. David looked back to see the director with the deadly weapon. He shouted something and ran across to Wilmot.
Brandon’s heart pounded with uncertainty. He couldn’t be certain what Wilmot’s intention was. He could only watch as David tried to wrestle the rocket launcher away from him.
Not wanting to take any chances, he fired up the turbo. Again, the ear-shattering screech cut through the night air.
David gripped the rocket launcher and Wilmot resisted him in a potentially lethal tug of war.
“I’m not gonna use it,” Wilmot said. “You can’t reason with that maniac. I’m just trying to scare him.”
“Put the damn thing down, Wilmot!” David forcefully pulled the rocket launcher away from the director’s grasp. As he drew it toward himself, the trigger caught on Wilmot’s fingers. The missile was released to the accompaniment of an oppressive force of air.
Brandon saw the missile coming toward him for a fleeting moment and then felt the impact. The shock tore through him causing him to think every bone in his body had just been crushed. The Turbo Swan’s control panel became a sheet of sparks and flame. He knew the rocket had taken out one of the two engines—the Achilles Heels of the Turbo Swan.
He caught a glimpse of Spicer, the soldiers, Wilmot, and Garrett scurrying away from the jeep and hurling themselves onto the ground.
In a frenzy, he tried to control the aircraft, but it was hopeless. The ground seemed to be shooting upwards with ferocious speed. “Shit! Wilmot, you son of a—”
The Turbo Swan crashed onto the Humvee in a cataclysmic explosion. A parachute-like plume of fiery smoke flew up over the wreckage.
Belinda and Tyler ran across to the point of impact. An agonized, horrified chorus of “No!” and “Bro!” echoed across the docks.
Fire engines sped along the street. Their sirens coldly filled the harbor as though they were the harbingers of tragedy.
Coming closer to the crash, Belinda and Tyler slowed their pace. Grief filled their hearts as their disbelieving eyes lingered, devastated, upon the sight of the blazing, smoking inferno.
Forty-Seven
The Vigil
4: 47 a.m.
The doors to the intensive care unit at Wilshire Memorial Hospital swung open. Andrew Wilmot entered aggressively to see five police officers standing in the foyer. Cynthia Garrett followed.
“Dammit!” Wilmot hissed through his teeth. “I had him. He would have landed that goddamn machine, but his goddamn buddy had to interfere.”
“Take it easy,” Garrett said. “It’s not over yet.”
“I was bluffing. I had no intention of blowing him out of the air. I just wanted to make him think I would.” He stopped and rested his back against the wall.
“I know, but we don’t have a prognosis yet. What do you want to do about Faraday and Reese?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“We’ve got too much going on right now. I’m not gonna propose Nemesis until everything is in order. ”
A short, balding man in his early fifties brushed off his white medical coat and approached them from the far side of the corridor.
Wilmot looked up and stood straight. “Doctor Seymour.”
“Hello, Director Wilmot.”
“How is he?”
Belinda opened her eyes in the waiting room, tightly holding a blanket. Tyler sat beside her, shivering. The events of the night had clearly taken their toll on him, and his blanket wasn’t helping. Nikki sat with them in one of the adjacent chairs.
They watched the conversation between Wilmot, Garrett, and the doctor through a small window in the waiting room door. They couldn’t make out what was being said.
Wilmot turned his head in their direction and gestured to them. Then he returned with Garrett through the swinging doors. Doctor Seymour came toward the waiting room.
“Tyler.” Belinda nudged him.
The doctor pushed the waiting room door open and stepped inside with a somber expression.
Anxiously, Belinda and Tyler stood.
“Mr. Faraday. Ms. Reese,” Seymour said.
“How is he?” Belinda said. “Is he alive?”
“Barely.”
“Can we see him?”
Seymour shook his head. “His injuries are extensive, and we’re just prepping him for surgery.”
“How bad is it?” Tyler said. “Is he gonna make it?”
Seymour shook his head. “I’m not sure. He has massive internal injuries, multiple broken bones, and third degree burns over eighty percent of his body.”
Belinda’s hand came over her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“I need to see him,” Tyler said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Faraday, but that’s just not possible.”
“Like hell it’s not. I swear, if you don’t let me see my brother—”
“That’s not what I meant, Mr. Faraday.” Seymour placed a calming hand upon Tyler’s shoulder.
“S-so, what do you mean?”
“Your brother . . .” The doctor looked to the floor, clearly reluctant to say what he had to say. “Your brother doesn’t have a face for you to see anymore.”
Belinda collapsed into her seat, sobbing convulsively.
“Oh, Jesus,” Tyler mumbled in horror. “What about my sister and the others?”
“They’re all fine. They’re currently in detox. It’s going to take several days, at least. They’ve all been subjected to repeated doses of barbiturates, cocaine, and heroin. You don’t get through that overnight. We also have counselors working with them. The police are looking into the identities of the women and children in order that they can alert their families.”
Tyler’s expression became trance-like. “Brandon saved them. He saved me.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Faraday.”
Sudden
rage appeared in Tyler’s eyes. Throwing the blanket from him, he violently charged out of the waiting room.
“Tyler, wait,” Nikki called after him, but it was too late.
Tyler waded through four police officers, almost oblivious to them. Bursting through the swing doors, he took the steps down to the next level.
Turning a corner, he came to the elevators and saw Wilmot and Garrett waiting at one of them. The doors of the middle elevator opened, and they prepared to step inside.
“Hey!” Tyler roared.
They stopped in their tracks and turned to face him.
“You did this, you son of a bitch.”
“Tyler—” Wilmot said.
“Why couldn’t you have just left him alone?” Tyler tore his tie and suit jacket away and cast them on the floor.
“Look, Tyler, this is ridiculous.”
“You wanna talk to me about ridiculous? My brother is fighting for his life because of you. Now, take your goddamn ID or whatever out, and throw it on the floor. This is personal. Let’s do this like men!” Fists clenched, his bellow echoed through the corridors. He felt his face flush, and for the first time in his life, he truly believed he could kill. His all-consuming need for vengeance overrode his caution and fear.
Before another word could be uttered, he felt his arms being gripped. Looking up, he saw two police officers restraining him.
Wilmot came forward with his right hand raised in a peaceful gesture. “It’s OK, officers. This man has been through hell. Just let him be.” With that, he turned, rejoined Garrett, and entered a newly arrived elevator.
Before the doors closed, Wilmot said, “We’ll be back in a few hours. Go and get Mr. Faraday a coffee.”
Tyler exhaled, summoning everything he had not to weep.
By noon, Tyler and Belinda had managed to remain awake as they kept their vigil in the waiting room. Nikki stayed with them throughout.
The door opened, and they looked across with a start.
Tyler rubbed his eyes, not entirely certain he wasn’t seeing things. “D-Dad?”
“I got here as fast as I could,” Charlton Faraday said.
Tyler stood wearily and embraced his father. “God, it’s good to see you.”
“What happened, Tyler?”
“What didn’t?”
“How’s Brandon?”
“Last we heard, they were taking him into surgery, but that was hours ago.”
Belinda stood to introduce herself. “Mr. Faraday, I’m Belinda Reese. You should be very proud of your son. He helped to save many women and children.”
Charlton took her hand with a friendly smile. “Thank you, Belinda. I am proud of him. More than I can tell you.” He turned his attention back to Tyler. “I brought someone along with me.”
“Who?”
Charlton opened the door and waved his guest inside.
Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Alex!”
“Hey, buddy,” Alex Dalton said, and hugged him.
Charlton crept out and left them together.
“Hey, Belinda,” Alex said.
“Hey, Alex.”
“We’re not supposed to know each other, so we just met, OK?” Alex winked at her, barely lightening the moment before turning back to Tyler. “So, what’s been happening, bud?”
“Take a seat. I don’t know where to begin.”
“How about at the beginning.”
Tyler rubbed his eyes again, trying to remain focused. “It’s a really long story. A few days ago, Brandon, Belinda, and I took off in a really cool Mercedes sprinter for Nevada.”
Charlton spotted Wilmot talking to a police officer. A middle-aged man in a suit came through the swing doors and approached Charlton.
Faraday pointed Wilmot out to the man. “That’s him.”
“All right. Let’s find out what his intentions are, and we’ll take it from there.”
The two men approached Wilmot as he concluded his discussion with the officer.
“Mr. Faraday,” Wilmot said with a cordial tone.
“I’m gonna cut to the chase, Wilmot. If you plan on pressing charges against my son, you’ve got one hell of a battle on your hands.”
“Is that so? Do you think you can buy off the law in order to get your boy off of an aiding and abetting rap?”
Charlton felt his retaliatory spirit rising and grinned. “Well, let’s see here. He failed to alert the authorities to his brother’s whereabouts. In the process, he helped in the rescue of their sister and a number of others, women and children, from a human trafficking outfit. Is that accurate?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then, you go ahead and press those damn charges, and I’ll push the story through every major TV station and newspaper in the land. When the riots start kickin’ off, you’d better hope you can run pretty damn fast. I’ll also have a dream team of lawyers on the case that’ll keep your department tied up in litigation for the next thirty years.” Charlton gestured to his companion in the suit. “This is Kent Ulrich. He’s just one of ‘em.”
Wilmot smiled condescendingly. “Mr. Faraday, you are overreacting.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. I can certainly see where Tyler gets it from.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have no intention of pressing charges against Tyler, or Ms. Reese. SDT is intelligence, not law enforcement. In fact, I’m doing everything I can to dissuade the police and the FBI from going after them.”
Faraday and Ulrich frowned in unison.
With cavalier arrogance, Wilmot continued. “You see, I’ve just returned from police headquarters. Only two of the personnel from this slavery ring were taken into custody, and that’s because almost all of the others were blown to four points of the compass. These two didn’t know much, but what they did know was very interesting.”
Charlton glanced at Ulrich, and then back to Wilmot. “Interesting in what way?”
“Well, they weren’t even aware who they were really working for, but they gave us two names. Mae Ling Cheung and Han Fong.”
“So?”
“We ran checks on both of these people, and it seems they used to be with one of the Tongs. According to the two who were taken in, Han Fong left the building around five minutes before the army arrived. He wasn’t there when it exploded, which means he’s still out there.”
“What has any of this got to do with my son?”
“That all depends on how friendly this Fong is with the Tong families, and how vengeful they might be if he has their favor.”
Charlton’s expression darkened and he felt his blood pressure spiking.
Coyly, Wilmot said, “As far as we’re concerned, sir, your son had nothing to do with this. We don’t want him taking the stand. The US government has better things to spend the tax payer dollars on than securing Tyler in the Witness Protection Program. I suggest you consult your lawyers about that.” Grinning smugly, he walked away and disappeared into the ward, leaving Charlton with profound concern.
“We didn’t even see what happened,” Tyler said. “We saw the Turbo Swan hovering, and there was this really loud bang. Then it just fell onto the Humvee and exploded.”
Alex looked away, speechless. It was the most remarkable story he’d ever heard.
The door opened again. Alex, Tyler, Belinda, and Nikki looked up to see Miranda and Tamara in the doorway.
“We came as soon as we heard,” Miranda said. “How’s Brandon?”
“We still don’t know,” Belinda replied.
Alex stood awkwardly. “Hi, Mir.”
“Hi Alex. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“Yeah, well I . . .” Uncomfortable, he made his way toward the door. “I need some air. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Would you like some company?” Miranda said.
He glanced back at her and hesitated for a moment, still processing his friend’s incredible tale. Now he had to face the appearance of his former lover. Finally, he conc
eded. “Yeah, why not.”
Enthusiastically, Miranda followed him out.
“I’m going to see what I can find out about Brandon,” Tyler said, and stood.
Oozing with trepidation, Belinda joined him.
Alone together in the waiting room, Nikki moved over to Tamara and hugged her.
“I’ve wanted it to be over for so long,” Nikki said, choked. “But not like this. Oh, God, not like this.”
“Have you spoken to your parents?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Y-yeah. You’re right.”
Nikki took out her cell phone, pausing to recall the number. As it came back to her, she tapped in the digits, one by one with trembling fingers. A female voice came through the earpiece.
Nikki attempted to compose herself, but her tone quivered uncontrollably. “M-Mom?”
Tyler and Belinda headed toward the operating room. Both were exhausted, but they sorely needing information about Brandon. Anything. Perhaps one of the surgeons could give them some indication of Brandon’s status.
The operating room door opened and Doctor Seymour stepped out. He removed his surgical mask and looked up.
Tyler and Belinda slowed their pace and studied his expression, looking for even a glimmer of hope.
With a pained visage, Seymour simply shook his head.
Tyler broke down with a sadness the likes of which he’d never known.
Belinda’s eyes didn’t move from the doctor. Her face assumed a blank, emotionless expression, as though she was unable to feel anything at all within her own protective vacuum.
Forty-Eight
Requiem
“Approximately forty miles behind me, in an isolated cabin, a private requiem is taking place for the man who single-handedly divided the nation—Brandon Drake,” Tara Willoughby said into a microphone before a Channel 7 camera crew. “High within these snow-covered mountains surrounding Aspen, Colorado, a small gathering of Drake’s family and closest friends are remembering the life of a man who perished in an explosion, while confronting members of his own former division a week ago. This reporter was a witness to the incident.
