The door opened to reveal two immaculately dressed men in suits, one standing well over six feet in height while the other barely cleared five feet.
“Mr. Butler?” the smaller of the two asked.
Tom feigned tiredness and nodded sluggishly, rising slowly from the narrow bench that doubled as a bed.
“How can I help you, Agent?” asked Tom stretching and yawning.
“Special Agent Wen Chan. There’s been a terrible mistake but I’m pleased to say it’s been resolved,” smiled Chan.
“Excellent, so I’m free to go?” asked Tom, knowing it was the last thing they planned for him.
“Yes, Mr. Butler,” replied the other agent.
Tom smiled. “And I suppose you’re Agent John Smith!” said Tom, referencing the man’s European features versus Chan’s Asian heritage. Wen and Chan were the two most popular first and last names in China and the equivalent of Western society’s ‘John Smith’.
The American agent smiled and nodded. They knew Tom Butler would not fall for their bullshit cover story but the show wasn’t for Tom Butler, the show was for the FBI.
“So what’s the plan guys, get me out and offer me a lift home?”
Chan nodded.
“Airline ticket bought in my name and a look-a-like to use my passport and make the trip? I’m guessing South America or South East Asia?” added Tom, shaking his head. He knew exactly how effective the plan would be.
Smith smiled. “Quit stalling and start walking!”
“Hmm, I think I’ll just hang out here, thanks.”
“I would advise against that, Mr. Butler,” countered Chan sinisterly.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” laughed Tom.
Chan’s sinister smile didn’t waver. “No, we’ll simply extend our area of operation. Who knows what you may have divulged to that pretty little niece of yours?”
Tom’s anger exploded and he charged across the room. Before he reached Chan, Smith’s massive hands grabbed him and held him back.
“Let’s just calm it down,” Smith suggested to both Chan and Tom. “Creating a scene does none of us any favors.”
Tom struggled against Smith’s grasp but soon realized it was futile. The man was like a rock, a solid mass of muscle covered his already inflated frame.
“Stay away from her!” hissed Tom as he accepted his fate.
“All you need to do is walk out of here a happy bunny and she’ll be fine, that’s a promise,” offered Smith in a conciliatory manner.
Tom nodded his head in acceptance and followed Chan out of the room. The sight of the three men would have raised some sniggers during the day, a real small, medium and large offering. Each stood a good head taller than the next. Tom at 6 feet had never felt taller while Chan led the way and never smaller when Smith took over as they neared the front door of the all but empty Washington field office.
“Smile for the camera!” whispered Chan as they neared the door that would lead them to the main entrance.
Tom was finding it hard enough to take his last few steps, never mind throw a smile to the inanimate cameras that followed and recorded their every move as they walked silently in a death march towards his last breath.
“Special Agent Chan!” came a shout from behind. One of the few FBI agents on duty at 4:00 a.m. stopped them all in their tracks.
Tom turned and noticed Chan’s hand move slowly and carefully towards the bump on the inside of his jacket. Chan refused to look back.
“Yes?” he asked, shouting behind him towards the onrushing agent, his hand nearly touching the handgrip of his pistol.
“You left your ID card when you signed out, Mr. Butler.”
Tom watched as Chan spun and in the blink of an eye, removed his hand from his pistol grip and held it out to the helpful agent who placed his ID safely in it. The movements, Butler noticed, were exceptionally fast and left the helpful agent blissfully unaware of Chan’s previously deadly intent towards him.
As the agent walked away, Tom couldn’t resist. “Tsk, tsk, imagine leaving your fake ID behind,” he chided quietly.
“Who said it was fake?” questioned Chan so straight-faced that Tom realized he had seriously underestimated his foe.
The final door buzzed open and the coolness of the early Spring morning flooded into the vast entrance hallway. Tom looked around, desperate to scream for help but unwilling to sacrifice his niece. He knew it was likely to be an empty threat. They knew she had nothing whatsoever to do with his work but it was a threat he nonetheless took seriously. She was the only person on the planet they could have used against him. The fact they knew that was more than enough to make him take his fate with as much dignity as he could possibly muster.
He could see the car sitting waiting for them. Its engine was running and a third agent, or whatever the hell they were, was ready and waiting behind the wheel. Just a few steps and the sidewalk separated him from his imminent death. The moment he was in the car, they’d probably put a small caliber gun to his head and end it quickly. The last thing they’d want was a struggle or a fight in a confined space.
He recognized the National Building Museum directly ahead as he stepped outside. He’d never had a chance to visit but had always wanted to. Another thing to add to the quickly filling list of things he had always wished he had done. With each step, it seemed he had done less and less with his life. He tried to remain strong. He thought of the people through the ages being marched proudly to their deaths. Fighting for what they believed in, dying for their cause. Idiots, he thought angrily while trying to remain ramrod straight and defiant to the last.
As he neared the top step, his resolve began to waver. Less than ten yards separated him from the ominous black car, its engine humming in the silence of the night while its tail lights emitted a bloody glow that cut through the early morning haze. Agent Smith stretched out and guided Tom down the stairs, his powerful hand bearing more weight than either he or Tom would acknowledge. As Smith helped Tom, Chan raced ahead and opened the rear door. There was no interior light. Great care had been taken to ensure the light had been extinguished. Another sign that Tom’s fate was imminent.
As they neared the car, Smith’s hand moved from near Tom’s waist to his head, gently guiding it lower and lower as he maneuvered Tom into the back seat.
***
“What do you mean he’s been released?!” screamed Special Agent Jane Swanson.
She hung up in disgust and punched the steering wheel in frustration. She wasn’t interested in listening to the agent’s groveling bullshit of an excuse. He should have checked with her. She was a rising star but a blighted one. Her anger issues were legendary, as was her profanity. Her ability to solve cases and get her man was surpassed only by her ability to piss off every member of her team and most of the command structure. Luckily for her, she was hated slightly less than she was feared.
She had been promoted and demoted with regularity and was in a current positive trend - the promotions outweighed the demotions. There was very little doubt that her successes were all that stood between her and the unemployment queue. She was a handful and a loud one, but she was also usually the smartest and quickest in the room. Conformity was most definitely not her strong suit. A trait the FBI craved in 99% of its agents, the 1% being the acceptable tolerance of brilliance. There was no disputing Jane’s brilliance; it was just whether one day her behavior would outshine it. When that day came, she and the FBI would part company, more than likely, not amicably.
She floored the accelerator and her Audi RS4 station wagon exploded to life. The 450bhp of power bit down into the four-wheel drive train and powered the family size car as though it were an Indie racecar. Jane Swanson loved the wolf in sheep’s clothing and the RS4 rocketed in a matter of seconds to over 100 mph. The roads, at 4:00 a.m., were empty. She hit the switch and ignited her blue strobes just in case, and had the added security of knowing the ceramic brakes would ensure she stopped quicker than she accelerated, sho
uld the need arise.
The RS4 wasn’t cheap, but with no plans for marriage or kids and an inheritance from her grandparents burning a hole in her pockets, she had taken one look and thought what the hell? If ever a car had been built for Jane, it was the RS4. They were just meant to be together.
She called the office back. The adrenaline rush from the acceleration had calmed her mood.
“Don’t let them leave before I get there!” she demanded.
“They’ve already gone. One of the agents had left his ID and I just gave it back to them as they left the building,” offered the helpful agent nervously.
“Shit!” she yelled, more in frustration than anger. “I’m heading East on G, were they pointed North or South on 4th?”
“North in a Chrysler 300,” replied the agent, watching the car pull away on the CCTV system that covered every inch of the building and its perimeter. “Jesus!” screamed the agent jumping out of his seat.
***
Tom was forced in beside the smiling Chan, his hand resting close to the pistol that he had so nearly utilized just moments earlier. As the door shut behind him, Tom feared the worst and sucked up every piece of courage his body could muster, which was very little. The front door opened and the large frame of Smith folded itself into the cramped front seat.
No sooner had the door closed, the car began to glide away from the curb. Smith swiveled around in his seat and facing Tom, revealed a small, almost ludicrously sized pistol poking out of his right hand. Of course, in Chan’s hand, the gun would have looked almost normal. In Smith’s hand, the small .22 caliber pistol just looked wrong. However, at close quarters, it was an excellent kill weapon, causing only a small entry wound, no exit wound and enough power in the bullet to rattle around in the brain cavity ensuring a fairly quick and painless death. Tom knew he wouldn’t even bleed much. The heart would just stop pumping and the blood would remain in situ. As clean a kill as you could get with a gun.
Tom braced himself for the bullet’s impact and closed his eyes. Being thrown forward and realizing he was being thrown forward was the last thing he had expected.
Chapter 4
“Just what the hell do you guys think you’re playing at?!” screamed Swanson, jumping from her car. She had driven straight towards the Chrysler as it had attempted to exit 4th Street. Her ceramic brakes had been the difference between emergency braking and an emergency call out.
“What are we playing at?!” screamed the driver in response, rising shakily from his seat, pointing at her car just an inch from his bumper. “You nearly killed us all!”
“Don’t be a drama queen!” she chided, brushing past the driver towards the rear of the car and pulling open the door.
“Mr. Butler?” she asked stretching out her hand.
Tom opened his eyes for the first time and looked into the eyes of his savior. Unrestrained by a seat belt, he had hammered into the back of the front seat. He shook his head in an attempt to understand exactly what had just happened. Agent Chan, it seemed, was in a similar condition. He looked on in a daze as he also had hammered into the seat in front. However, whereas others were simply dazed, Agent Smith poured blood. His lip and nose had split due to the small .22 caliber pistol slamming into his face as his unrestrained body had also been thrown forwards in the car. The windscreen barely restrained the giant form of Smith as his outstretched hand containing the small pistol finally caught up. The irony was not lost on Tom as he began to fully understand the picture in front of him. The small weapon chosen for its lack of bloodletting had created a geyser in Smith’s nose.
Tom smiled and accepted Swanson’s outstretched hand.
Chan was quick to recover. “He has been released, Miss Swanson!”
“Not by me!”
“It is not your decision to make,” answered Chan authoritatively.
“In which case he is free to go with you or come with me, right?” asked Swanson cuttingly. Something was amiss and she had every intention of finding out what exactly it was.
Chan grabbed Tom as Agent Swanson began to pull Tom out of the vehicle.
“Hit it!” screamed Chan.
The driver reacted quickly and began to move but with Swanson’s Audi RS4 to negotiate, it wasn’t the sudden acceleration that Chan had been hoping for. Swanson removed Tom with a smirk while Chan looked on in frustration as the driver eased beyond the RS4 and then hit it.
Tom and Swanson watched Chan spin around in his seat and could almost hear the screams of anger as he vented at his colleagues while watching Tom and Swanson fade into the distance.
“So, Mr. Butler,” said Swanson turning to Tom. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Tom shook his head, and Swanson took him by the elbow and led him back towards the FBI field office.
“I thought as much,” she said despondently.
“I’ve been released!” Tom said, struggling gently against Swanson’s grip.
“Perhaps, but I’ve a funny feeling I just saved your ass and for that you are going to tell me something before you go anywhere.”
Tom looked at the surprisingly perceptive agent. He guessed she was mid-thirties at most, and from her confidence and the way in which she carried herself, she was an exceptionally capable one at that. She was right. He likely would be dead now if it were not for her instinct and, of course, her maniacal driving. He looked back towards her abandoned car, a station wagon, but a very butch looking station wagon.
“Should you not move that?” he asked, motioning his head towards her car and changing the subject.
She looked around. She wanted to get Butler back into protective custody. Her alarm bells were ringing on full alert. The streets were empty and Chan and his colleagues’ Chrysler were a dot on the horizon.
“You don’t mind?” she asked.
Butler shook his head and she changed direction and led him back to the Audi.
“How many kids you got?” asked Butler taking the passenger seat.
“Not married.”
Butler smiled. He knew she wasn’t married before he asked. “This car has a kind of family exterior but inside it’s all business.” He tried to move in the seat but it had devoured him with its sporty snugness. “It’s so you!” he added with sincerity.
Swanson looked at him for some hint of sarcasm but Butler looked deadpan and straight ahead. She shook her head and turned the ignition key. The engine’s bass-like roar announced its readiness to leap forward. Swanson eased the straining beast towards the garage entrance just a few yards ahead. The automatic doors began to rise at the click of her remote, and she looked again towards Butler and smiled. He reminded her very much of her father.
She turned the wheel sharply and floored the engine, the tires screeched and strained as the full power of the engine took them all by surprise. The car rocketed away from the FBI building and hurled its passengers across Washington.
Butler suddenly considered the prospect of a double bluff and instantly panicked.
“Have you eaten?” asked Swanson nonchalantly, taking a corner meant for 20 MPH at 60 MPH.
Butler relaxed mentally, at least as much as the G force being exerted on his body would allow. “Room service wasn’t due ‘til seven!”
“Excellent, I’m famished and technically you are free.”
Butler was no fool; the informality and lack of prying eyes was exactly what Swanson wanted. His already excellent opinion of her increased even further. She was a very smart young woman and one that would require him to be on top of his game. The last thing he’d want on his conscience was knowing he had gotten her killed.
Chapter 5
20 January 2013 - President Jack King Inauguration day
Oval Office – The White House
Jack woke up on the morning that would see a new America - an America that had spent four years in almost constant turmoil was coming to an end. He offered a new choice for America, a strong and proud America that rewarded those
who worked hard and believed in the founding fathers’ principles. Nobody could deny that the last president had had the unenviable task of trying to recover from the global financial crisis, but one poor decision after another had been more than the public could stomach. Change was needed and President Jack King was the man chosen for the job. It wasn’t quite a landslide victory but not far from it.
It would be an uncharacteristically quiet inauguration; the twentieth fell on a Sunday and law dictated that the president must be sworn in by the twentieth. An official ceremony would be held the following day.
President King took the oath of office in a small ceremony conducted by the Chief Justice attended by his wife and senior staff. His speech, safely tucked in his inside pocket, a month in the making, would have to wait until the public ceremony the following day. It was a speech that would never see the light of day. A speech full of hope and determination to work hard, pay down the debts of a wasteful government and ensure the generations to come wouldn’t have to pay for the generations in the past.
“Mr. President?”
Jack continued his discussion with the Chief Justice. He had a list of deeply unpopular laws passed by the previous incumbent to overturn as a priority and took the opportunity to discuss his plans with the Chief Justice.
“Mr. President?” asked Kenneth Lee, this time more firmly.
Jack turned, expecting to see his predecessor, but Kenneth was staring directly at him.
“Mr. President, we have a meeting scheduled.”
Jack looked over his shoulder before pointing to himself questioningly, much to the amusement of those gathered in the Oval Office.
Kenneth Lee had been Jack’s Chief of Staff from the moment he had entered the race. In fact, Kenneth Lee was the reason Jack King had entered the race at all.
ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS Page 2
