by Steve Richer
“I assume you’re also leaving this place today, Andres.”
“Yes, back to Washington. My flight is at four.”
“You want to ride to the airport together? I have to bring the rental car back anyway.”
“I would like that, thank you.”
“Maybe we can grab lunch on the way.”
Castro nodded, smiling. It reminded Rogan that life had some positive sides. There would be no prime rib today, making his appetite for it increase exponentially, but good food was good food. Hell, maybe he could make his own prime rib tonight.
He’d stop at the store on the way home from the airport, get the ingredients, and hopefully Shiloh would arrive in time to share it with him. Even Glut would get a piece. He could already picture the dog lounging under the table, chewing on his bone. There’s no place like home, he determined.
“Agent Bricks?”
Rogan looked up at the civilian secretary entering the situation room.
“Yes?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“I’ll be right out,” he said, rising to his feet. “Who is it?”
The woman opened her mouth to announce the visitor but she wasn’t fast enough. Cooley, the guy from the Central Intelligence Agency, came striding into the room confidently.
“I need a word, Bricks.”
Rogan snorted, not even feigning being surprised. He stood up and crossed his arms, leaning against his desk.
“Well well, look who doesn’t know how a phone works. You could’ve hit me on Twitter too. I’m hip like that.”
The older man ignored the comment and came closer. Rogan nodded to the secretary, letting her know that it was all right and she could go, which she did.
There were three other agents in the room, aside from Castro. Nadine Shoemaker was one of them, also working on her report. All eyes were directed at them.
“Bricks, I heard through the grapevine that you caught Calix Hargrove last night.”
“Did I?”
“Cut the bullshit. This is above your head. Thank you for your service, good job and kudos and a letter of commendation is going into your file, but hand Hargrove over to me right now.”
“Or else?” Rogan said, taking a step closer.
The spook was the same height as Rogan but scrawny. He wasn’t intimidated by the younger federal agent standing up to him.
“Don’t make this a pissing contest, you’re just gonna embarrass yourself. I have the fist of the US government backing me up on this.”
“I don’t have to tell you where you can shove that fist, Cooley.”
“Make it easy on yourself and give me the detainee.”
“Where are you taking him? Shipping him to Guantánamo? To some black site in Turkey?”
“I won’t ask you again.”
Rogan changed strategies and took a step back to show that he was the bigger man.
“You have it all wrong.”
“You don’t have all the facts.”
“Actually, I do. I think you’re the one who’s misinformed. I see the twisted, misguided reason why you would want to eliminate Hargrove, an American citizen, if he was about to sneak secret elements of biological warfare to a foreign nation. But what if that’s not what he was doing?”
“What?”
“What if I told you he wasn’t actually transporting anything illegal in the first place?”
Cooley blinked before composing himself. “Is that what he told you? He told you a Boy Scout fairytale about being innocent and you believed him?”
“I followed through with the story he told me, found who gave him the virus in the first place. There never was any virus. Hargrove had nothing in his possession aside some harmless colored water.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“So the more important question is: who gave you the tip about the virus being on its way to Russia?”
“That’s totally irrelevant,” Cooley spat. “Have Hargrove fetched so we can take him away?”
“So it’s we now? Come on, man. Think about this. You’re being used, stop doing what people tell you to do.”
“I won’t ask you again, Bricks. Have your people fetch Hargrove from the holding cell. Now.”
As if the whole thing had been carefully choreographed, four men marched into the situation room. They were tall and well-built, obviously muscled under their casual jackets. From the strong jawlines and stubbles, the alert eyes, and bulges at their waist, Rogan knew who they were.
These guys were former spec ops. They were CIA Special Activities. They were the deadliest operators in the world, something compounded by the fact that they had practically no oversight.
“A big hand of applause for Cooley and his mouth-breathers, everybody!” Rogan said to everyone around him, clapping theatrically. “You really pulled out the big guns on that one.”
“Stop messing around and give me my prisoner.”
The CIA men fanned out. If they’d been in the street they most likely would have blended in, not even noticed. That’s why Rogan knew they were especially deadly.
“Calix Hargrove is a federal fugitive and he belongs to the FBI. I’ll have a US Attorney indict him in Anchorage before lunch.”
“You will give me my prisoner, Bricks!”
“What I will give you is five seconds to leave the Seattle field office.”
Rogan swiftly unsnapped the catch on his holster. It wasn’t lost on the other FBI agents and everyone stood up, opening their jackets.
One wrong move and people were liable to get shot.
Chapter 33
Shiloh was on her feet, her eyes darting between the senator and the cops coming in from the bedroom next door. There were two in cheap suits – detectives – and two others in dark blue San Diego PD uniforms. The latter had their hands on their service pistols.
“Ma’am, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder on the person of United States Senator Patrick Stoll.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said, realizing that her accent was slipping but hoping they wouldn’t notice. “My name is Denise Staples and I have an appointment with the senator. I made the appointment yesterday with his assistant Linda Ramos. You can check with her.”
What the bloody hell was going on?! She went through everything she had done ever since she’d arrived in California. She couldn’t think of any mistake she could’ve made, anything that could have led to this.
Could it be when she staked out his house yesterday? No, that couldn’t be. This was a second rate politician’s house, not the Chinese embassy. It was impossible for surveillance and a full-blown investigation to be mounted in such a short amount of time.
“Ma’am,” the detective in charge began, taking cautious steps forward. “We have credible information that you’re actually an international assassin.”
“What?”
“Please don’t offer any resistance, okay? Come with us quietly and we can sort it out at the station.”
“What kind of credible information?”
Shiloh was immobile standing in front of the sofa. The two uniforms had already drawn their weapons although they were pointed down at a 45-degree angle. The four cops were coming closer still, like she was a rabid dog.
About eight feet away now.
For his part, Stoll was backing away slowly, getting out of the line of fire. It dawned on her that there was no way she could complete her mission. She couldn’t kill the politician and Rogan’s life was in danger.
“Ma’am…”
“Who told you about me?” she inquired. “Who told you I was coming here and what did they say I would do?”
“We’ll settle everything at the station, I promise. Please put your purse down and let my men cuff you, all right? It’s for your own protection.”
She almost laughed.
She racked her brain trying to understand what was happening. Why was she being set up?
As the cops came close
r, the detective had his handcuffs out already, she realized that one thing was clear. These guys were either real police officers and once she was taken in they would provide no answers, she would be railroaded. And if they were merely posing as cops, then she was as good as dead.
Her next course of action was crystal clear.
“Guys, restrain her.”
It was the youngest uniform who came closer first, essentially breaching the sitting area. His lips were trembling, he must’ve been new on the job.
Shiloh put a foot on the coffee table to boost herself and as she came down she grabbed the kid’s arm and twisted.
“Ugh!”
It wasn’t hard enough to break his arm but it spun his body around and gave her protection in case the others decided to open fire.
She analyzed the scene, taking everything in. The senator was still at the other end of the room so he posed no threat. The two detectives hadn’t drawn their weapons yet. Her only concern for now was the second uniformed officer, a sergeant.
Shiloh pushed on the young cop, sending him hurtling into his partner. It was so sudden that the sergeant couldn’t react and shoot at her. The body fell into his arms.
“Shit.”
Shiloh was already heading toward the exit but the lead detective had anticipated this. He reached inside his jacket for his pistol and she was on him.
She punched him in the face and kicked his shin. He was blindsided but also a hardened veteran. He shoved her back and she lost her balance, catching herself at the last moment on a couch.
“Get her!”
The second detective rushed forward and aimed his Sig P229. It had been a while since Shiloh had faced a pistol aimed at her face but her instincts were as sharp as ever.
She moved her head to the left and at the same time wrenched the gun out of his hands by deftly twisting it around.
“No…”
By the time she was gripping it, the young uniform was charging her from the side. She moved sideways but it wasn’t fast enough. She was knocked to the ground. At least she didn’t lose the pistol.
She swept the first leg she saw and a man went down, giving her the opportunity to get back to her feet.
The sergeant was on his radio. “We need backup, the subject is getting away!”
So they really were organized and they’d been waiting to nab her.
The first detective pulled out his gun and she could have shot him dead but she didn’t want that kind of trouble. Killing these men would be a last resort only.
She traded blows with the young uniform and kept him as a shield so the detective wouldn’t shoot her.
Then she roundhouse-kicked the other detective, her shoe catching him directly in the face. He was flung back and fell to the ground.
This reminded her about her mission. She had to kill Senator Stoll and she was lucky enough to have a 9mm in her hand. Only the politician wasn’t there anymore. The weasel had scampered into the bedroom, most likely hiding and crying.
She cursed under her breath, knowing she didn’t have the time or the means to go after him. She had to get out before reinforcements got here.
She pistol-whipped the lead detective, getting him out of her way and she dove for the door. She threw it open and ran down the corridor.
“We need backup, now!” she heard one of them screaming. “Cut her off downstairs.”
Not if she could help it, she thought.
She turned the corner and found the storage room the maids used. There were shelves with soaps, shampoos, toilet paper and other assorted bathroom products. There were stacks and stacks of towels. There was even a spare cart with a trashcan.
It was a shame there weren’t any staff uniforms. She did the next best thing by dropping her wig into the garbage bag and grabbing a couple of towels. A trap on the side intrigued her. It was the laundry chute.
She hurried away and found the emergency stairs.
As she climbed down, she wrapped a towel around her head and another around her chest. To the casual observer, she looked like she was coming back from the pool. Now she only hoped that the Conroy Hotel actually had a pool. She put the gun in her handbag and sped down two flights.
On the 10th floor, she went back into the hallway. Two tourists who were most likely going down for breakfast gave her an odd look but she ignored them. She found the fire alarm and pulled the handle.
“Oh my Lord!” the tourist lady exclaimed. “Is there a fire?”
“Yes, it’s terrible. Run for your lives!”
Shiloh felt a surge of devious glee as she said that and she returned to the stairwell. As she descended, more and more people joined her, creating the mad crowd she needed to lose herself into.
People were asking questions and no one had answers. But they were well conditioned; you heard a fire alarm and you got the hell out.
Shiloh exited again on the sixth floor and ran against a swarm of people until she found the freight elevator. She got inside. It was still working contrary to popular belief that elevators were locked down in case of a fire. It was so handicapped people could be easily evacuated.
She rode down to the second floor and got out again. This time however she didn’t head for the stairs. She found another storage room and, more importantly, the laundry chute.
Without hesitation, she opened the trap and eased herself into it.
Her heart lurched as she fell down all the way to the basement, almost 30 feet. There was no time to think, all she wanted was to put as much distance and confusion between herself and the police.
She landed softly in a basket filled with dirty bed sheets. The fire alarm had made the staff go away so she found herself alone in the laundry room. She dismissed her two towels and near the ironing station she came upon a man’s dry-cleaned three-piece suit.
She didn’t think twice and put on the gray jacket and trousers over her dress. It was a little baggy but it was so different from her earlier attire that no one would make the connection.
She found the service entrance and left the hotel. After walking two blocks east she hailed a cab and disappeared.
Chapter 34
“Goddamn it, stop fucking around.”
Rogan shook his head. “No, you stop breaking the law, Cooley.”
The CIA SAD operators reached inside their own coats.
“Guys,” Rogan said, addressing the FBI agents. “Don’t give in. They want to take an American citizen and torture him. It’s not what we’re about, is it?”
Nadine shook her head. “No, it’s not.”
“I’m not asking, I’m telling, Bricks. Get me Hargrove now!”
Rogan’s fingers curled around the butt of his pistol. Tensions were running high. It was a standoff.
“Everybody stay cool,” Rogan said, his eyes sweeping the room.
At that, Cooley snorted. “You’re the one with a hand on his pistol.”
“Tell your buddies to pull their hands out of their coats. Nobody needs to go postal right now.”
The CIA Special Activities operators remained immobile. Deep down, Rogan couldn’t blame them. It was their job, they were trained to be impassive. He’d been part of the special ops community himself, he knew this was their strength.
“Calix Hargrove, give him to me right this instant and we forget about this little flare-up.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Look, you have a job to do, fine. But I have a job to do as well. I have orders and you are interfering with them.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo. Go back to Washington, get me some official paperwork. I told you already I only take orders from three people: my immediate superior, the FBI Director, and my girl. Take your pick, I won’t be difficult. But make this shit official.”
“Bricks, stop being childish. I’m a patient man, I can be here all day.”
The four Langley goons shifted in a coordinated fashion. They were preparing for the worst, gripping their weapons even though they still hadn’t dra
wn them.
Rogan didn’t have a lot of confidence in the other FBI agents. In a firefight, they wouldn’t stand a chance. So he decided to go for hearts and minds.
“Guys,” he began loudly. “These people are from the CIA. They don’t care about due process, about the rule of law. All they care about is covering up their mistakes.”
“Jesus, Bricks…”
“If we hand Hargrove over to them, they’ll rendition him somewhere in the Middle East or Asia and they’ll torture him. Once they’re done getting their jollies off they’ll put a bullet in his head.”
“This has nothing to do with it.”
Rogan was on a roll and his eyes hardened. “Is that what we stand for? Is that what America is about? We take prisoners and kill them now, is that it? Is that why you joined the FBI?”
He hazarded a glance at his colleagues. Castro was impassive but the other agents were wavering. Nadine Shoemaker was nodding in agreement. She was only seconds away from extracting her gun.
“So what we’ll do is kindly escort these gentlemen out of our offices, all right? We don’t need to get physical, nobody wants this. But we’ll damn well follow them all the way down to the sidewalk. Who’s with me?”
“You’re making a big mistake, Special Agent Bricks.”
“Big mistake is my middle name, sue me. Now grab your shit and take a hike.”
The CIA paramilitary guys exchanged glances and, for a second, even Cooley was fazed. Rogan had made his point, he had won.
Out of the blue, the glass door to the situation room swung open and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Chen entered.
“What is this nonsense?”
“Just a little dick-measuring, sir,” Rogan replied. “We’re putting away our rulers now and helping our new buddies find the exit.”
Cooley smiled, finding a new opportunity. “We’re here to get custody of your prisoner, Calix Hargrove.”
“On whose authority?”
“Department of Defense.”
“You have any paperwork?”
“I can get some.”
“Then get some. Come back to me when you do. As for you, Special Agent Bricks, you’re in trouble.”
