by Vincent Heck
She was quiet for a second before she continued.
“No, babe. I’ll explain when I get there. I’ll just be there in a little. I can’t talk now I’m on the road it’s urgent. OK? Make sure you’re there. Alright. Bye.”
She hung up the phone.
“Give it back.” The man said pointing his gun. She tossed it into his lap.
“Drive.” He demanded.
Christine gathered herself, put her seatbelt on, and merged back onto the highway again.
9:15 a.m.
Jason had returned to his car. Quickly, he popped the trunk and immediately jabbed the guard in his throat. He grabbed the choking by his lapels and tossed him onto the grass in front of the car. “Tell your friends, I said hello.” He said closing his trunk. “Let them know, I’m keeping the gun, too.” He smiled.
The day was slightly brisk, and many where making their way towards work. Any given time in D.C. could turn out to be a terrible traffic delay. There was no telling if he’d get to Bowie on time.
His car was wired to actively feed his wife’s cell phone activity into his radio. No audio came through, to begin. Nothing but the notorious ruffling sounds of pants pocket—or purse-bottom—the same sounds that intrigued him when someone accidentally butt-dialed his number.
He listened to the windy garble, awaiting any indication that called for action.
Nothing came through but a faint cough in the distances and what seemed to sound like a bag of chips wrinkling.
As he hit another batch of traffic on the jammed-packed D.C. road, he noticed a group of young men in his rearview mirror. They were in a small dark car. They were shouting at one another. It seemed as if whatever they were discussing was eminent. Suddenly, the passenger moved his eye from the argument directly into the direction of Jason.
They’re talking about me?
The traffic began to move, and instead of driving with the safe flow, Jason weaved in between a few cars at rapid pace. With the wind flowing in through his sunroof, and cars laying on their horn at his perceived rude impatience, Jason happened to move ahead considerably in what was almost impossible traffic to maneuver in.
When he looked back into the rearview mirror, he didn’t see the boys in the car anymore. The traffic came to another halt.
Staring into the rearview mirror, Jason saw the glares of road rage from the surrounding drivers. He had forgotten all about the monitor on his radio before he heard a man say, “How much longer?”
“Thirty more minutes.” His wife said, obviously shaken up.
He couldn’t get to Bowie quick enough.
As traffic moved again, Jason approached the first exit. It was his last ditch effort to reach the destination before the men with his wife did. He flashed his lights in the grill of his Benz and put on his sirens as he entered downtown D.C.
As the cars pushed aside, he noticed the small black car whiz through the path the civilians had created for him to get through. Those young guys were back. He made a right onto a one way street causing oncoming traffic to have to skid to a stop. Two men leisurely strolling across the street were violently alerted to danger with the sound of a car smashing into a newspaper stand sending it barreling into the path of the men who split to either side.
The small car had hit the stand while turning the corner sending it into the path of Jason.
Jason swerved slightly, but just enough to miss the stand and both of the men.
The small car behind him had to stop briefly and carefully drive around the wreckage before accelerating into top speed, again. A release of adrenaline pleasantly greeted Jason when a small clear path, with no traffic tunneled before his eyes. Without hesitation he pounded his petal to the floor.
No more than a few seconds later, he heard the sirens of an unmarked car blaring behind him.
The cop car managed to squeeze in between both the small car and his.
“You’re being pursued by the authority, Jason. Please pull over.” Sirus said.
“Not now, Sirus.”
As Jason made a left turn down a small road, he flipped a green button out of his center cup holder and mashed it in with his palm. The car let out a high-pitched hiss noise before accelerating another 75 mph in 7 seconds. As he flew another long block down the narrow alley he managed to e-break his way back onto another busy road with a lucky break in traffic.
His car ramped over the concrete in the center of the road. Skidding to the left, he then, made an immediate right onto a small street. He flipped down a panel located on his doorside console and clicked a small silver switch before parallel parking his car into an open space.
He noticed the black unidentified cop car speed beyond the road in his rearview mirror.
“You are no longer in pursuit of the authority. The violation you’ve just committed is punishable for up to--”
“Sirus. Postpone details.”
“I will remind you later. Are you hungry? Would you like some food?”
As Jason settled in his chair, he began to laugh.
“Have I said something, funny, Jason?” Sirus asked in her soothing machine-woman tone.
“No. Just thanks for your help, Sirus. I’m not hungry.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else I can do for you, Jason?”
“Power down the car.”
“Vehicle powering down.”
The car settled in with a slight sigh. Then silence. The alley he had settled in had row houses on the passenger side. Across a narrow road on the driver’s side, there was a brick wall of an abandoned factory building.
As Jason laid his head back on the headrest, he felt the rapid thump in his chest die down. “Jason.” Sirus alerted. “Your vital signs are still critical. Maybe you should try some—“
“I’m fine, Sirus!” He interrupted.
He flicked three more switches on his dash—one to tint his windows darker, the other to flip his license plate to a new one, and the last one to check his car’s status.
“Inspecting vehicle status; restoring.”
A low garble over his radio reawakened his fears. He turned up the volume. A yelling man’s voice pierced through his speakers.
“Where’s he at?”
“He’s coming!” His wife said, “We just got here.”
“Call him.”
There was a brief silence.
A knock on Jason’s window startled him. It was the young guy from the small car. The kid pulled out a gun and backed away from the door.
“Get out the car.” The kid said.
Jason heard another gun cock from the opposite side of his car.
“Put your hands in the air.” The second kid screamed at the top of his lungs. “Get out!” He shouted again, impatiently.
Jason put his hand on the door.
“Pop the door, and put your hand up before you open it. I swear if anything funny happens my friend over there is gonna blow your brains out.”
Jason popped the door open. He heard his wife’s scream screech over his radio. An electric pulse surged through his body exploding from the sternum of his chest, ending in the pricking of his skin from the inside out, again.
“Show me your hands!” the kid screamed.
Jason put his hands up. The kid quickly grabbed the door open and moved towards the opening.
“Get out.”
Keeping his hands up, Jason stepped out of his car.
Part Three:
Czyra Michaels
XXI
10:00 a.m.
Washington D.C.
HSAS: ORANGE – HIGH TERRORISM RISK
“How’d we lose him? He was just here.” The driver asked Michael.
“You’re asking me, and you’re the driver? Obviously, he turned up a road we didn’t.”
“We’ve gotta go back.”
“No. We’ve gotta go to where he’s going. We can’t waste our time chasing his genius. Chasing Jason is
pointless. We have to intercept him. We have to catch him at his destination.”
Michael phoned the kidnappers with the girls. “What’s the status?”
“We’re here, but he’s not.”
Michael heard Christine and Clareese’s screams in the background. “Don’t harm her.” Michael shouted. “Wait until I arrive. That’s an order.”
As the men arrived to the house, he saw Christine’s car parked under a tree off in a place away from traffic.
Bowie wasn’t a big place. It was as rural as it was urban, and where Max lived was very secluded.
The women sat in the car. The man in the back held Clareese by her hair with the gun in her side and the man in the front pointed the gun at Christine. As she sat by her shattered window she caught a glimpse of Michael.
“Oh my God.” she screeched, “Michael, save us!” Michael stepped out of his vehicle.
“Hand them over, boys. We’ll take it from here.”
The women scrambled out of the car – Clareese elbowing her kidnapper in the ribs several times before he released her -- and ran over to Michael.
Michael looked into the eyes of his driver. The Driver nodded, and walked over to Christine’s car.
“What’s in here?” He asked the men who were exiting the car. “Nothing. We found no trace of him.”
“Pop the trunk.” The driver said.
“Nothing but regular car materials, sir. The crow bar is gon—”
The whisp sound of a silencer ended the man’s sentence. The driver, then, turned towards the second kidnapper who immediately tried to reach for his gun, before another whisp ended with a bullet lodged into his skull. Both men lay dead in the street.
Michael looked at Christine. “You’re safe now.”
“Who were they?”
“Disgruntled men who wanted to get back at Jason.”
“They weren’t with you? They acted like it.”
“Although they thought they were, they weren’t agents.”
“Well, where is Jason?”
Max’s front door opened.
“What is going on out there?” Max asked standing in only jeans and an undershirt. “Christine?”
“Max, we were coming here—” Christine started to explain.
“Police activity, sir.” Michael interrupted. “Your friend was kidnapped and we had her meet here. You are all safe. We’ve got all the questions we need answered. No worries.”
Max began to step off his porch.
“Sir.” Michael stopped him, “We’re going to need you to stay there for a while. This is an active investigation scene. Call 911, please.”
Michael caressed Christine’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I know what you’re going to ask: How is it I’m here and not Jason… Chrissy, you know he’s got a very important job. He couldn’t come. I’m sorry. He sent me.”
Christine’s eyes welled up with tears. Clareese pulled her away from Michael and embraced her.
“He told me to tell you he loved you.”
Christine hauled off and hit Michael in the chest. “How do you know?” She hollered through the quiver of pain in her chest. “He’s never around. He’s never been around for anyone. I was kidnapped, Mike – at gunpoint – kidnapped. He couldn’t drop what he was doing to come save his wife? He’s never, truly, loved anyone.”
Michael had nothing to say. He only nodded and shrugged his shoulders a bit.
“Stay here with your friend. You’ll be safe here.”
The emergency vehicle sirens that were rotating in the background steadily approached.
Michael approached the vehicles as the men jumped out. Flashing a badge, he said, “Federal Agent. DHS. The men you see here on the ground were kidnappers suspected of possible terrorism. We wrote up the report, and logged it in the system. Here’s your copy. We’ll deal with the rest back at HQ.” Michael reached into his pocket and handed the officers a piece of paper. Drones arrived above the scene. “It’s all yours now.”
“Anything else?” The officer asked.
“Nope, skip. You’ve got it.”
Michael and his driver walked to their car as the crime scene investigation started.
“Now what do we do?” The driver asked. “We can’t go back to Grambling without Jason.”
“We sit right here in this car, and we wait.”
10:15 a.m.
“Put your hands on the wall.” The kid shouted at Jason. An annoying feeling of anxiety trickled down Jason’s body as he turned to put his hands on the cold grainy wall. His fingertips settled in the crumbling mortar crevice in between the bricks. “Look kid, what do you want? I have $4000 in the car.”
“We don’t want money. You’re Jason Upton, right? Brendenhall member, war veteran, former standout NSA analyst and tech nerd? In addition to being America’s social science guru? Reality’s James Bond? Current Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security? Pretty much a living legend.”
“So, it looks like you may know me. Are you a crazed fan?” Jason reluctantly answered. “Why?”
What do you know about Jasmine Beckard, Michael Young, Josh Grambling and President Harris?”
Jason cleared his throat, “Well, one I don’t know. One of them is the Acting Secretary of DHS, the other is the Homeland Security Council and the last guy is the 42nd President of the United States.”
“Oh, you want to be a smart guy, then, huh?” The kid screamed in a charge towards Jason. “I don’t have time for you bull—“
As the kid approached Jason, Jason grabbed him snatching the gun out of his hand, while in one smooth motion shooting at the other kid. The bullet grazed the second kid’s hand and lodged into a nearby car setting the horn off.
“Mother of—“ the second kid said, dropping his gun.
“Oh quit your crying, fat boy.” Jason said. “It barely touched you.”
Jason had the first kid in a choke-hold.
“Getcha donut-hole shaped legs over here.” Jason ordered the second kid.
The kid waddled over as Jason shoved the first one up against the wall. “Didn’t you mom ever tell you not to rush a living legend with a gun?” Jason backed away from the wall. “Now, both of you, get up on the wall. Hurry up, Michelin Man Jr.”
The pedestrian car siren still blared in the background. The homeowner came out. What in the—“
“Police work.” Jason hollered while showing his badge. “I’ll speak to you in a minute. Get back in the house.”
After patting both kids down, he asked them to face forward.
“Now, who are you? That’s the question. What are your names?”
He stuck the gun in the back of his pants.
“I’m Dany Blister.” The chubby kid said.
“That’s your real name?”
“Yeah.”
He turned towards the blonde haired skinny kid. “And you?”
“Czyra Michaels.”
“How old are you, chumps? You can’t be any older than 16. And what do you want from me?”
“We’re both 21, sir. W-we just have a few questions.” Czyra responded.
“So you hunt down a Federal Agent and attempt to assault him in broad daylight on the street? Is that how you do that? With all these drones floating around? That’s smart? Spill it. First question.”
“You’ve never heard of Jasmine Beckard?”
“I told you no. Who is she?”
“She is—“
“Was—“ Dany interrupted.
“No, she is a friend of ours.” Czyra retorted. “We just don’t know where she’s at. She just disappeared without a trace.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know. We heard stories about people disappearing and—“ Czyra stopped mid-sentence.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.
“You’re gonna kill us.”
“No. I’m not. But, what do have for me? What do you think you know?”
“Nothing.” Dany said.
<
br /> “Well, if you don’t tell me what you know, I am gonna kill you.” Jason said reaching for the gun in his pants.
“How much do you know about Operation Religious?” Czyra blurted out.
“What is—wait… are they after you?”
“I think so. It’s why we think Jas is gone. The Illuminati is coming to get us.”
“The Illumin—? You know what, get your silly behinds in the car before you foolish boys get yourselves killed.” Jason laughed. “The Illuminati? Really, kid?” He muttered.
“But what about our—“
“Your car, and everything in it, is already being tracked. So get in the Mercedes.”
Czyra looked at his small car with weepy eyes.
“That car is going to get you killed, kid. It’s loaded in nearly a thousand of our databases. I can promise you that. I don’t trust whatever you have in there. If you keep that stuff, you’re not coming with me. But, you need to come with me.”
“But how do we know you’re not going to turn us in?”
“Did you not follow me being chased by a government car? Besides, you’re the smart kids who tried to assault a Federal Agent while believing ‘the Illuminati’ is after you.” Jason chuckled, again. “Get in the car as is. You’re lucky I don’t make you strip down. We’re getting you new clothes immediately.”
The kids walked over to the car.
“Get in the back. Both of you.”
XXII
World Trade Center, Building One
8:30 a.m.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
“I guess pretzels or hotdogs aren’t on the menu this morning?” The pretzel vendor shouted out to Michael who was heading towards the entrance of World Trade Center building 1.
Michael pivoted on one foot and redirected his path from the door towards the vendor. “I’ll take the usual.” He said. “Business as usual, Gehrig, you know the drill.” Gehrig was of middle-eastern descent. His accent was very slight – he used his couple decades in America to sharpen his English and learn American culture.
