Internal Threat

by Sussman, Ben

  “When I don’t know what to do,” he offered, “I try to think of what my dad would do.”

  My God, this kid is a genius, Ashley thought to herself in wonder. Yes, think like Matt. He would know what to do in this situation. Mr. Golden Boy knows what to do in every situation, it seems. It did not matter if it was stealing a deal out from under her or methodically placing kicks to render people harmless.

  What would Matt do, Ashley wondered. First, she surmised, he would want to make sure Luke was safe. After that, he would want her to get herself out of the deadly mess he dragged her into. Probably go to the police and then-

  “Larsen,” Ashley blurted out loud, startling Luke.

  “The policeman?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she nodded. She had forgotten all about him. The last image she had of the detective was his battered form lying on the street, gun popping bullets to give Ashley and Matt the lead time they needed. “We have to find him,” Ashley told Luke. She glanced to the ignition and offered a silent prayer of thanks to Matt upon seeing the key still plugged into its socket. “Buckle up,” she ordered Luke, who climbed into the front passenger seat and obeyed.

  She started the engine and spun the car into a U-turn across the darkened lanes of traffic. It took only a few minutes to find the turn off from the Pacific Coast Highway on to the sloped beginning of Sunset Boulevard. They drove in silence, eyes scanning the sidewalks for movement. Looming shadows from the palaces of the superrich were all that stared back at them.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Ashley said, turning to Luke. “Your dad was driving so I’m not sure exactly where Larsen is. He might be hurt and he could be anywh-”

  “Look out!” Luke shouted, pointing out the windshield.

  Ashley’s head snapped back to the front of the car. Her mouth fell open in shock as she saw Detective Larsen mere feet away, gun at chest height and leveled at her head. She slammed on the brakes, causing her and Luke to pitch forward and strain against the seatbelts. Larsen dove to the side as the Porsche fishtailed towards him, its hood on a collision course with his legs.

  The car screeched to a halt. The ticking of the engine and Ashley’s ragged breath filled the air inside.

  “Stay here,” she angrily said to Luke, unclipping her belt.

  She threw open the door and climbed out. Larsen was already getting to his feet, dusting the street grit from his hair. He glowered at her.

  “What the hell is it with you and that car? That’s the second time tonight you’ve tried to run me over!” he shouted.

  “Maybe you should stop standing in the middle of the road pointing a gun at me!” she snapped back.

  “Next time I’ll just pull the trigger. It’ll obviously be self-defense.”

  Ashley was about to retort when Luke’s voice broke through.

  “Officer Larsen?” it said. Upon hearing it, Larsen’s face broke into a strained grin.

  “Luke? You okay?” he asked, hurrying as best he could towards the car, where Luke now leaned against the hood. When the detective reached him, he instinctively grabbed him in a hug. “Don’t you disappear on me ever again, kid.”

  “I won’t,” Luke mumbled, breaking away from the embrace.

  Larsen looked to Ashley, then indicated Luke with his eyes. “Is he…”

  She nodded. “He’s going to be fine. Matt gave him the antidote and I haven’t seen any negative change. In fact, every minute he looks a little better.”

  “Thank God,” Larsen replied. He turned, spotting headlights in the distance. “Let’s get back in the car.”

  Ashley moved towards the driver side but Larsen stopped her with a hand. “How about you take a break and let me drive?” She frowned, tossing him the keys. “Thanks. You would think you got some stunt driving lessons with all those movies you were in.”

  “I did get a few but I-” she stopped herself. “Wait a second, you recognize me?”

  “You think I’ve never seen Desperate Jailbait on cable before? Or Encino Girl? Those are classics.”

  “Larsen,” she laughed softly, “you are full of surprises.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of lonely nights with Netflix,” he admitted.

  Ashley climbed into the car on the passenger side, while Luke returned to the back seat.

  “So what now?” he asked, keying the car to life.

  “That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,” Ashley answered.

  “My captain would say we need to get the hell back to the station and get the rest of the force on this. No doubt they’re wondering where I disappeared to.”

  “You think that would help?” asked Ashley.

  “No, I only think it would seriously slow things down. And we can’t afford to be slowed down.” He caught Luke’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “What do you think is the best thing to do, kid?”

  “Find my dad,” came the firm reply.

  Larsen nodded in agreement. “My thoughts exactly. Question is, where do we start?” He paused, noting a slight buzzing sound. “What is that?” The three glanced around before Ashley realized it was coming from her pocket. She pulled out her cell phone and glanced at the screen.

  “Unbelievable,” she said through a smile. “Looks like we know where to start.” She held up the screen so the caller ID could be seen.

  On it were the words “Matt Weatherly.”

  Forty-Three

  A bullet pinged off the desk leg that rested a few inches from Emma’s head. She ducked down a bit further, turning to Jason who had his gun out beside her. He sighted down his barrel, trying to line up a shot. Emma pushed his arm down.

  “Hold your fire,” she ordered him.

  “Emma, we’ve only got a slim chance of surviving this. I would prefer it to be a fighting chance.”

  “Agreed. But it will only get worse if you shoot. You may take these two out but then we’ll have the entire building after us.”

  Jason shook his head in frustration, immediately seeing her line of reasoning, and lowered his sidearm. Emma nodded her thanks.

  The gunfire paused and was swiftly followed by the booming voice of one of the MP’s. “Hosobuchi and SPC Worth! Step away from the computers and come out now with your hands raised!”

  “Alright,” Emma answered calmly. “We’re doing as ordered.” Before climbing out of her hiding place, she whispered into Jason’s ear. “Wait until I give you the signal.”

  “For what?” he whispered back, but she was already moving out with her hands above her head. “Crap,” he muttered before doing the same.

  Cordite smoke hung in the air, stinging their eyes. As it cleared, they could see the two officers training their guns at chest-level. “On the orders of General Griggs, you are to be escorted upstairs immediately. If you resist, we are authorized to use lethal force,” the talkative one said. The other, tall and lanky, simply glared in silence over his barrel.

  “We’re coming peacefully,” Emma told them. She stepped towards the taller guard while Jason flanked her and stood in front of the one who was barking orders. “All I ask is that-”

  “Shut up,” the tall guard suddenly cut her off. “Put your goddamn hands down.”

  Emma swiveled her eyes towards Jason who was watching her intently. “There’s no need to handcuff us,” she said, turning her attention back to the tall guard.

  “I said, shut up, bitch!” he roared in response.

  “Take it easy,” his partner warned.

  “The hell I will. Uptight bitch always walking around here like she owns the place. Now we find out she’s a traitor.” He motioned with his gun. “Put your hands down.”

  Emma complied, lowering her arms but keeping her hands hanging loosely in front of her waist. Jason followed suit.

  The lanky guard holstered his weapon and withdrew a pair of handcuffs from the back of his belt. Jason watched Emma intently for any kind of signal. None came. The guard stepped towards her and roughly grabbed one of her hands before yanking her arm back
at an awkward angle. Emma winced with pain, crying out. Jason instinctively stepped forward to help but was shoved back by his own guard. He caught eyes with Emma who subtly nodded.

  Jason did his best to keep up with what happened in the next few seconds.

  Emma shifted her weight, causing the tall guard to lose his balance. In one fluid motion, Emma twisted her body out and under from his grip, setting both her arms free while the guard was left snatching at the empty air. He lunged forward but Emma was prepared for it, spearing her right hand forward into the top of his throat. As he clutched his Adam’s apple and gurgled for breath, Jason seized the moment with his own guard who stood with his mouth agape.

  Jason delivered a swinging punch to the man’s jaw, too quickly for the guard to have a chance to avoid. As Jason’s clenched fist connected, he saw the man’s gun shift its aim. Time slowed to a crawl as the gun barrel popped in a flash of white light and smoke. A blast of heat seared Jason’s torso, a burning sensation left in its wake.

  “I’ve been shot,” Jason told himself. The sensory memory came flooding back. He was on the field again, his right leg a twisted mass of agony. The sun burnt down as his fellow soldiers stared down in mute shock.

  Reality slammed back into him.

  He was not on the battlefield in Al-Shepta, he remembered. This was the basement room of the National Intelligence Agency headquarters in Colorado. The young man in front of him was not an enemy soldier but a scared young MP who had just accidentally fired his gun in the line of duty. Before Jason had a chance to process it, his shooter was on the floor clutching the side of his head. Emma stood behind him, her own guard’s gun now clutched in her hand. She knelt down and placed it snugly against the prone man’s neck.

  “Drop your gun!” she ordered.

  The guard complied, opening his fingers to let the sidearm drop from shaky fingers. Emma kicked it away, sending it skittering to Jason’s feet. She yanked the pair of handcuffs that dangled from the guard’s belt and clamped them around the young man’s wrists.

  Moving to Jason, she began unbuttoning his shirt. “Help me,” she told him. Jason did his best, fumbling with the bottom buttons until Emma was able to pull back the fabric. A relieved sigh escaped her lips. “Looks like the bullet just grazed you,” she told him, at last meeting his eyes.

  Jason glanced down and saw that she was right. The bullet had traveled a route parallel to his ribcage, tracing a burning path along his flesh. The skin was red and raw but not broken. He felt he had the urge to offer a prayer of gratitude but Emma was already buttoning his shirt up again.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.

  “No,” he shook his head.

  “Are you still with me?”

  “Hell yes,” he replied, earning a smile from Emma. She bent to the floor and grabbed the guard’s gun by the handle. Jason took it from her.

  Emma moved to the doorway, poking her head out. Pulling it back in, she said, “Hallway is clear.” Jason started to walk but Emma stopped him with her hand. “Wait a second.”

  She placed her body outside the door and brought her gun up level with her chest while squaring her shoulders. She shot two quick bursts of fire. Down the length of the hall, something shattered and glass tinkled to the floor. She turned back to Jason.

  “I took out the security cameras. That will buy us an extra few minutes.”

  Jason craned his head out the doorway to see the gutted remains of a tiny video camera at the far end of the hall. He shook his head in wonder. “Let me guess, you also got an ‘A’ on the gun range.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” she pulled the ammunition magazine from her gun’s handle to check the remaining bullets. Slipping it back into place, she headed out the doorway. “Let’s go,” she called to Jason over her shoulder.

  He followed and was surprised to see her striding towards the eastern stairwell. “Griggs is this way,” he called after her.

  “I know,” she replied cryptically. “But it’s not him we need to see.”

  Forty-Four

  A wave of pain washed over John, causing his muscles to spasm and tense. The motorcycle faltered beneath him, the tires threatening to topple its rider over the handle bars. John caught it in time and brought the bike back up to its upright position. He flipped the visor up on his helmet to allow cool air to rush through. After a brief flash of refreshment, he quickly realized it was a mistake. There was an open wound on his cheek from where Weatherly had struck him with the server box. The air that touched it brought a wincing sting. He angrily snapped the visor back down.

  Matt Weatherly.

  The thought of him brought a fresh surge of rage that coursed through John’s veins. Weatherly had turned what was should have been a very straightforward mission into an hours-long nightmare for John. He had manipulated others before and none had ever resisted, especially those whose children he had put in harm’s way. Certainly none had attempted to flip the situation to their advantage and challenge John’s orders.

  A metallic chirping sound filled the inside of his helmet. John flinched in surprise before realizing it was the ringing of his cell phone. He touched the Bluetooth button beneath his hand. Crackly silence was followed by the voice of his employer.

  “Confirming all servers are down,” his employer said.

  “Confirmed,” John answered. “We are a go for second phase.”

  “Initiate,” replied the voice. “Payment two has been triggered and deposited into your Cayman account.”

  “I will contact you when phase two is complete,” John responded. He clicked off, not bothering to wait for any more. The money was inconsequential. Although most people would be ecstatic to learn that two million dollars had been placed in their bank account, they were just numbers on a screen to John. All money had ever been was a device to keep John below the world’s radar so he could continue his work uninterrupted and use it to tempt targets who would be of use to him.

  Another bolt of pain shot down John’s neck where Matt had struck him. He steered the motorcycle to the side of the road, placing a shaky foot down as it idled. Using his fingers, he searched for the wound and found it easily at the base of his skull. He could feel the broken skin, massed tissue and slickness of blood. Assessing the severity, he decided that he needed to attend to it now. If he did not, it would jeopardize the entire mission.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and opened the web browser. Quickly finding what he was looking for, he pocketed the phone and kicked off from the curb. John angled the motorcycle down a side street until he came out on to a wide boulevard. The street lay cloaked in darkness except where the cold blue glow of a street lamp pierced it. About half way down the street, he saw his destination. He turned down a nearby alley and coasted along its length until he arrived at the rear door of the store.

  Placing the kickstand down, he climbed off the Hayabusa and stepped to the thin wooden door. His feet buckled beneath him briefly as another wave of pain seized the back of his head. One gunshot to the door’s lock and a shove with his shoulder brought him inside quickly. He thumbed on a light to reveal a cramped storeroom filled with shelves. Brown plastic bottles surrounded him.

  “A well-stocked pharmacy for this part of town,” John mused as he scanned through the bottles. He located a pack of bandages and ripped them open. Nearby was a roll of surgical tape which allowed him to slow the blood flowing from his head wound. Satisfied at the feel of it, he turned again to the shelves.

  “Put your hands in the air and turn around,” a voice said gruffly behind him.

  John hesitated.

  “Do it!” the voice shouted.

  John obeyed this time, slowly raising his hands and turning around. A man in his sixties was facing him, separated by the length of his double-barreled shotgun. Reading glasses hung from the neck of his rumpled UCLA sweatshirt.

  “I am sick of you druggies coming in here and stealing my stuff!” the man roared. John simply remained
silent, assessing his options. “Thirty years I’ve been here and you freaks think I’m easy pickings. Well,” he motioned with the shotgun as he stalked closer, “think again. Now you go back and tell your meth friends-”

  John rotated to the left while snapping his hands out. He snatched the gun from the man’s grip, causing him to leap back in surprise. An ear-splitting boom filled the storeroom as buckshot scattered bottles on the shelf. John flipped the gun so he was cradling it in his hands. He swept his leg beneath the other man’s feet, causing him to topple to the floor. John stood over him with the still-smoking barrels aimed at the man’s neck.

  The world swam for a second before John shook it away. The altercation had taken more out of him than he expected. “Your pain medications. Where are they?” he calmly asked.

  “Go to hell!” the man shouted.

  John cocked the gun and placed it in the store owner’s face, causing the man’s eyes to go wide. John pulled the trigger, shifting his aim a second before he fired. The shot exploded near the man’s left ear, causing him to howl in pain. John leaned down to speak loudly into the owner’s right ear.

  “You are most likely now deaf in your other ear. I am sure you would not want the same thing for this one, would you?” he asked, waving the gun next to it.

  The man shook his head violently from side to side, then held out a shaking finger to the far corner of the room. John followed it to see a metal locker resting upon one of the shelves. He crossed to it and was happy to find it unlocked. Inside were neatly organized bottles of vicodin, codeine, morphine and oxycodone. Familiar with its work, John grabbed the bottle of oxycodone and unscrewed the top. He dry swallowed two of the white pills and stepped back to the man who had rolled on to his stomach. Blood trickled from the ear that he clutched.

  John stood over him, considering. He scanned the room for any sign of a video monitoring system and found none. He doubted that the man cared who was stealing from his store, instead just wanting it to stop. Glancing down again, he saw that the man had reached the bottom of the stairs that he must have come down. A trembling hand reached upwards for the railing bolted to the wall. John placed the heel of his shoe on the man’s back to stop him.