[Jack Randall 01.0] Closure

by Randall Wood

  “I get to assemble my own team?” he asked.

  “I have a letter from the Director and the Attorney General to that effect. Your budget is out of Homeland Security and is basically a blank check. You have temporary rank as an O-7 with access to whatever military support you need. You have some mandatory attached personnel, but you can assemble your own team.”

  “Mandatory attached personnel?” Jack frowned at that. “You mean babysitters?”

  “The CIA has people who are familiar with the area. They’ll assign someone to be on the team. It’s not negotiable,” his boss replied.

  Jack sank back in the leather chair and flipped a pen through his fingers. It was either accept the mission or return to the beach house—possibly forever.

  “All right, here’s who I want.”

  • • •

  Crack!

  Sydney Lewis rode the recoil into her shoulder and brought the sights back in line with her target, her finger already taking up the slack in the trigger. She steadied her sight picture and did her best to not jerk the trigger.

  Crack!

  “Good,” she heard the instructor say behind her. “Improve your memory.”

  She knew he was referring to her muscle memory and not her brain. Although those memories were the reason she had devoted so much of her free time to the range over the past month. She had almost shot her boss in the middle of an important investigation! The fact that they had been a couple once didn’t help things either.

  She had never been a good shot, favoring the science aspect of her job more than the law enforcement portion. Jack had taught her himself in the beginning, and thanks to him she had somehow made it through her qualifying shoot to make it into the FBI. The brief romance that followed was passionate, but had ended with their graduation. They both just had different paths before them at the time. Being teamed up with him years later had been both pleasant and stressful, but so far their past had not interfered with their ability to work together. At least not too much. Since then she had picked up her weapon only when she’d been required to do so.

  Her near-miss had changed her mind on shooting. The instructors here at Quantico were the best, and she had improved quite a bit in the last month.

  Crack-Crack! She finished off the clip with a double-tap and automatically ejected the spent magazine and reloaded with another she pulled from her belt. It was empty and the reload was just practice, but it was something the instructors insisted on. Only then did she relax, and still keeping the barrel pointed downrange, pulled the clip from her new automatic. She laid both down on the pad in front of her with the slide locked back. The safety was built into the grip and already engaged.

  When she had first approached the instructors about becoming a better shot, they had all listened politely and then watched her shoot a few times. It was quickly determined that her current Glock was just a little too big for her small hands. They had tried her out on a few different models before she found her fit.

  The Heckler & Koch P7 was small, chambered for a 9mm round, and featured a built-in safety mechanism that was disengaged just by her gripping it. She could cock it manually or with the grip mechanism, and this worked perfectly for her as it took a lot of doubt out of her mind and let her concentrate on improving her marksmanship. It had been further modified for her by the instructors to fit her specific trigger strength and outfitted with tritium sights for low-light conditions. She had purchased two and was practicing with the backup today. Behind her was Dave, her favorite instructor. She pulled her ear muffs down around her neck and shook her long black hair back behind her shoulders so she could hear his critique.

  “Much, much better today, Sydney. I saw a few go a little right, so we need to get that trigger pull of yours a little smoother, but other than that I think you should be happy with your progress. I may even take you out on the combat range and start working with you there. Let’s see how you did.”

  Sydney pushed the button on the side of the lane divider and watched as her target came rushing at her. Sometimes Dave worked the button while she shot, simulating a rushing attacker. It was a little unnerving at first, but she got over it. The targets today were standard silhouettes. Dave had eagle eyes that missed little, and she wondered how far to the right she really was.

  The target stopped in front of her and was backlit by the range lights. Most of her shots were center-mass—right in the chest, with a couple in the head when she had double-tapped.

  “See here?” Dave pointed to two holes that were on the outside line of the innermost circle. “There, a little right. We need to work on your trigger pull, you’re still jerking it after the first five shots.” The shots were still in the center and would have been lethal if real, but Dave was a perfectionist in a serious business, and if he said she was off, then she was off.

  “Okay. Any changes?” she asked.

  “No, I think more practice will take care of it. Your reload speed is better. This is your backup, right? Do we need to get the well beveled?” They’d had the magazine well of her primary machined to accept the clips easier. It helped when loading a new clip in a hurry or in the dark. Her backup had yet to visit the machinist for that alteration.

  “No. I think we’ll just practice that more. too,” she replied. Dave smiled, obviously pleased with her answer.

  His smile was replaced with a frown and she followed his gaze to the rest behind her. Her pager was vibrating toward the edge and threatening to fall on the floor. She intercepted it before it could. Thumbing the button, the screen lit up and revealed three numbers.

  “888”

  Her expression changed from one of curiosity to a smile. 888 was code for “Report for a mission.” She could finally get back to work.

  “Raincheck, Dave?”

  “Anytime,” was his reply. “I’ll clean your backup. You can pick it up later. Go see what they got for you.”

  “Thank you!” she called as she left the range, trying not to run.

  • • •

  Eric scrolled the code across the monitor screen, looking for what he was sure was a typo in the latest upgrade to his crime scene software. His schedule at the FBI was more hectic than most and he hoped to finish the software upgrade today so he could concentrate on other things.

  His arrival at the Bureau had been rather untraditional and he was working hard to change everyone’s perspective. Less than a year ago he had been a promising student at MIT, but a conflict with a professor over a prank had resulted in his being asked to leave for a short while. He’d been spending the time helping his father at the Las Vegas police department when he was discovered by Jack Randall. It had led to a job offer and now he found himself taking an accelerated course at Quantico on top of his other assignments. It was a heavy schedule, but he knew he would never find anything more interesting than what he had been exposed to in the last few months. The training and influence of his instructors showed as he had done away with the spiked hair and earring and replaced them with a more conservative cut and better wardrobe. He had also packed on a few pounds of muscle, most of which was sore and causing him to squirm in his seat.

  He looked up from his computer screen as the buzzing broke through his concentration. He checked his pager, but the screen was blank. Puzzled, he looked around his cubicle for the noise. No lights on the phone. His cell was not ringing. He waited for it again.

  Bzzzzzzzzz.

  Some quiet cursing was heard from the cubicle next door. He pushed his chair out into the aisle and leaned it back in order to see around the corner.

  Larry was holding a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. A man with decades of experience, he was the detail man that Jack needed to back up his up-front style of leadership. The years had not been especially kind to him and duty at headquarters had added pounds around his mid-section. He accepted the fact that he would never make it to the top of the ladder years ago and that was fine with him. Larry preferred good solid invest
igative work and would have been surprised to know that Jack had fought hard with several people to get him on his team. Some found Larry’s unkempt appearance, peculiar wit, and lack of protocol a negative, but Jack knew better. Larry got results, and to Jack that was all he needed to know. Larry had taken a shine to Eric and they now had side-by-side cubicles.

  He was currently making a concentrated effort to ignore the pager on his belt as it continued to vibrate.

  “Larry?”

  “Yeah, kid?”

  “Your pager’s going off.”

  “You sure?” Larry continued to pretend to read the file.

  “Uh . . . yeah. You don’t want to answer it? Could be important.”

  “No.”

  Eric smiled and pushed his chair farther into the cube. “Why not?”

  “Ever been to Africa, kid?”

  “No?”

  “Well I have. It sucks. Hot as hell. Steam room humidity. Everything’s dirty. Food gives you the shits. Bugs big as your head. Every disease known to man, and let’s not forget, people who don’t like us.”

  “And?” Eric was puzzled.

  “Somebody thinks I should go and they’re paging me. I hate Africa.”

  “They’re just gonna keep paging,” Eric pointed out.

  “You don’t think they’ll get tired and call somebody else?” Larry pulled the pager from his belt, but refused to look at it. “You’re good with this kinda stuff, can’t you disable it for me or something?”

  “No, not without somebody asking me why.”

  “Please?”

  “Could be an adventure,” Eric coaxed. “Who is it?”

  Larry frowned at Eric. “You’re a big help.” He looked down at the offending device and reluctantly pushed the button. Eric watched his face and unexpectedly saw a smile.

  “Not Africa?” he asked.

  “No, it’s Africa all right.”

  “So why the smile?”

  Larry held up the pager for Eric to see. “It’s Jack’s number.”

  “He’s back?”

  “Evidently. You have a passport?”

  Eric frowned. “Yeah, but no page for me.”

  Larry’s reply was interrupted by the pager buzzing again. He snatched it off his belt and read the screen again. He handed it to Eric with a smile before turning to lock all his cabinets.

  Eric looked down at the little screen: “Bring Eric with you. Jack”

  “Hurry up, kid. Jack’s back. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

  Eric scrambled to lock his cube and follow.

  • • •

  “All right, let’s quiet down people!”

  Deputy Director Deacon’s voice carried to the rear of the briefing room and silenced the multiple conversations. He scanned the room as everyone found a seat, ticking off names against the list in his head. Satisfied that everyone was present, he moved to the front of the room and waited till all eyes were on him.

  “Okay, as you all know, the U.S. Embassy in Tanzania was bombed today. The current numbers we have are 24 dead, 102 wounded, mostly Tanzanians working in and around the building. I’m told that the Ambassador was among the dead, as well as FBI agents Bill Goecker and Steve Park. Both were working in the embassy at the time. Some of you knew these men. My hope is that we can bring some justice to the people who did this. That said, I give you your team leader.” Deacon stepped aside and Jack took his place.

  “For those of you that may not know me, my name is Jack Randall and I’ve been assigned to lead the team that’ll be investigating the attack. The goal of the investigation is to find evidence leading to the identity of the attackers and the people who supported them. Following this briefing you’ll be excused until nineteen-hundred to pack. You will then report here and we’ll all depart for Andrews where we’ll board planes to Africa. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, so pack accordingly. Security is very tight, people, refrain from telling anyone where you are going. The press will be on us soon. Anyone found commenting to the press, on or off the record, will earn a ticket home and you can explain your comment to the Director.”

  Jack paused to let his comment sink in.

  “You’ve all been chosen for your expertise in your field, your experience, and your ability to operate on no sleep.” Jack got a courtesy laugh, even though they all knew he wasn’t kidding. “You’ll need all of it in the coming days. I’ve asked a few of you to intro yourselves and cover some key points, so let’s get started. Syd?”

  Sydney rose from her seat against the wall where she had been scanning some documents. She walked to the front as Jack retreated to a corner where he could watch her speak and observe those listening.

  “Hello, my name is Agent Sydney Lewis and I head the forensics team. I’m here to give you an idea of what type of environment we’ll be going into medically. A brief is being prepared covering all the other basics and will be available for the plane ride. I’m giving you this in person because it’s important. West Africa is one of the most dangerous places on earth for disease. This doesn’t mean you may be exposed, it guarantees it. Typhoid, leprosy, yellow fever, blackwater fever, cholera, tuberculosis, amoebic dysentery, tick borne fever, malaria, bilharzia, elephantiasis, ancylostomiasis, Marburg, Ebola, and AIDS just scratch the surface of what can be acquired in Tanzania.”

  A hand shot up and Sydney waved it down.

  “Yes, you will all be inoculated, several times.” She paused to break open a medical kit in front of her on the table. She noted that she had everyone’s undivided attention. She held items up as she lectured.

  “Halazone tablets. They counteract all the bugs in the water, most of them anyway. Mefloquine. Anti-malarial tablets. You’ll start them tonight and continue them for two weeks after we return. Don’t forget them. It’s the first thing you’ll get. The rest of these items are antibiotics. We can’t trust the local stuff. Tetanus toxoid injections. You’ll get a booster before we leave also. Snakebite kit. I’ll have anti-venom with me. Remember, of the thirty-three types of snake in east Africa, thirty of them are poisonous.”

  “How do we tell them apart?” someone asked.

  “With a ratio like that, I suggest you avoid them all,” she answered. “The hospitals over there have limited resources, and we’ll be working in a hostile environment. Be careful when you’re climbing around the embassy. Cuts and broken bones can turn to gangrene or sepsis quickly in that climate. If you end up bleeding and need a transfusion, well, you figure it out. I’m told an air ambulance will be on call, but that takes time. My point is, be careful. You don’t want to get sick or injured over there.” She reached inside her shirt and pulled out a chain with two tags hanging from it. “Dog tags. Everyone will be issued two pair. Wear them at all times. No exceptions. Something happens, they may just save you. Any questions?” She scanned the room. No hands. She turned to see Jack stepping forward.

  “Take it to heart, people. The hospital is overwhelmed. If you get sick or injured that’s one less of you on the team, and we need everybody for this one. Our security on this investigation will be run by Agent Greg Whitcomb. Greg comes to us from the Hostage Rescue Team and he will be second in command. What he says goes.” He nodded to Greg who took Sydney’s place in front of the room and proceeded to outline the threats they faced and the procedures they would all follow.

  Jack looked from face to face as Greg gave them the bad news. A few frowns, but no one looked like they were having second thoughts.

  “A lot of strange faces, Jack,” Sydney whispered from her place next to him.

  “Yeah, but we need them.”

  “You pick them?” she asked.

  “Most. Some were added by the Director.”

  “On whose order?”

  “Exactly. I didn’t really have a choice. But most of them make sense.”

  “And those who don’t?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on them,” Jack replied.

  They watched Greg give his talk for a few minut
es and Jack scanned the new faces in the group. The strangers among them were sitting quietly and taking in the lecture. He reviewed the files he had briefly read on each as he thought about Sydney’s question.

  An attractive young woman sat in the front row, actually taking notes. She wore short dark hair that was simply brushed. No highlights or stylish cut. Subtle makeup. She possessed the healthy figure of one who was no stranger to hard physical labor. Intelligent eyes sat behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her name was Heather Sachs, and she was from the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta. Although only twenty-eight, she held dual degrees in Microbiology and Genetics from Duke University. Her attachment to the group was due to her being one of the United States Government liaisons to the disease fighting groups in Tanzania. She coordinated with the CDC, WHO, Red Cross, Doctors without Borders, and all the other groups attempting to fight the diseases plaguing the area. Although a civilian, she had numerous contacts, and some pull with the military, and seemed to be respected by her peers. Several glowing letters were included in the file, and she had spent considerable time in the field, mostly east Africa. The embassy had been one of the hubs of the disease fighting effort, and she was hitching along to salvage what supplies could be saved from the building and adjacent warehouse. Jack was not quite sure as to why she had been included in his group as she offered no real skills pertaining to the investigation. Other than taking the place of someone else, he hadn’t seen any harm in her going either. Attempting to cut her was not worth the fight, so he had simply kept her without question. Jack had watched her during Sydney’s lecture and waited for her to interrupt. But she had simply listened politely and not offered her expert opinion. Jack took her in now as she listened. She caught his gaze and returned it with a nod before returning her eyes and attention back to Greg.