by Alex Cage
Black wasn’t able to see Toben, the manager, or Tyler from his vantage point, but he knew they needed more time. Taking into account the nerves of the park manager, he calculated it would take him twice as long as it would normally to unlock the door. They need more time, he was thinking as he slid to the floor towards the assault rifle his unconscious opponent had dropped during their scuffle. The weapon was a BREN 805. Black was on one knee as he picked the gun up. He used his forearm to wipe the rainwater from his face before pressing the gun’s stock against his shoulder, peering through the sights, and targeting Stokes’ team, who were moving into shooting positions, eyes on the front door of the food court. Stokes was on bended knee, lifting his pistol. The guy to his right was on his feet, aiming his assault rifle. The guy to his left was still staggering to his feet. The sound of two booms stuffed the air. Black knew the shots came from Toben, so he didn’t allow it to interrupt his aim. The canopy provided him cover from the rain. There were no distractions as he flipped the fire mode and pulled the trigger, sending the rifle into a full mag dump. Hot spent shells clacked out onto the floor of the bumper car arena and multiple brazen claps popped ferociously in his ears.
Half of the magazine emptied before Stokes’ crew knew what hit them. Most of the rounds struck the man on the far left, the one closest to Black, hitting the back of his vest, legs, and neck. The man’s body shielded Stokes before falling on top of him. The other guy was able to drop to the ground unscathed as the remaining bullets zipped past. He shifted on his belly, aiming his gun at Black, and unloaded. Black saw the bright flame from the muzzle flash. He pitched the empty rifle and hustled to his left out of the trajectory of the rounds. The rapid fire was steady. He heard bullets buzz through the air as he dove to his stomach for cover behind a game booth. He heard the crash of .223 Remington ammunition ripping through bumper cars and the game booth. Pieces of stuffed animals, toys, and broken wood floated around him. Debris and drops of rain whisked across his back.
The shooting stopped. Black peeked around what was left of the game booth and saw the man, now on one knee, reaching for a spare magazine for his rifle. Stokes was crawling from under the fallen body of the other guy. Only two more left. Black sprinted from behind the booth. He hopped over the short fencing and removed the pistol he had tucked in the back of his pants, aiming at the man with the rifle. The man loaded the rifle and started to aim, but Black had already fired off two rounds. The first round hit the man in his vest, near his chest. The second round caught him in his lower neck, above his collarbone. He dropped his rifle and clutched his neck before tipping over to the pavement. Stokes wobbled to his feet, jumped some fencing, and made a sharp left, turning at the northeast corner of the food court building. Black kicked the rifle away from the body of the man he had just shot. He heard footsteps shuffle behind him and turned to see Toben exiting the building, pistol in hand.
“Where’s Stokes?” Toben asked.
Black pointed to the northeast corner of the building.
Toben nodded.
Side by side, they raced after him.
The rain began to pour and electric pressure built in the sky. Lightning flickered through the clouds with thunder clamoring seconds later. They saw Stokes scurrying into a large spaceship-like structure through a front door that mimicked the cargo bay door of a spacecraft. The construction was not complete—there were cones and caution tape all around the area. Half of the building was painted in a shiny pearl white and the other half was an ugly cream base color. Black and Toben dashed inside, guns leveled in front of them. The inside was dry and dark. There were small holes and slits in the structure providing strips and spots of light from the outside. It was quiet with the exception of the rain thumping on the roof and the thunder roaring above. Crates, plywood, drywall, tools, and concrete pillars were scattered about, and the smells of sawdust and paint wafted through the air. There were a few windows, but no interior walls or doors, only the skeletons and frames for them. A spark flashed from the darkness about twelve or fifteen yards away. Black heard the bullet whiz past, cutting between him and Toben. A sonorous boom followed as Black and Toben dropped behind a hefty wooden crate for cover. Broken wood and debris rattled as they pressed their backs against the crate.
“That was too close. He’s a good shot,” Toben commented.
“He is a former Green Beret,” Black replied.
“Please tell me I hit one of you,” Stokes voice hovered from the shadows.
“Stokes, why don’t you just give up? Your team is down, it’s over,” Toben said.
There was silence for a moment, only the rain tapping upon the roof. Then a lightning strike filled the space with a brief blue glow. Black glanced around the crate, scanning the area for Stokes’ location. It was hard to make out, but he saw two pillars right next to each other with a crack of maybe two inches between them. He figured that was where Stokes was. It made sense. He could shoot while standing and be shielded by the pillars. An easy spot for him to see and hit his target, but difficult for his target to locate and hit him.
“I should’ve kidnapped your wife and son, Toben,” Stokes fumed. “I’d have leverage right now. Argh… this was supposed to be quick and clean. Find Tyler and get him out of the country, but you two had to get in the way. I told her this boy was more trouble than he’s worth. When I get out of here, I may put a bullet in his head myself.”
“What—who?” Toben shouted, still squatting with back against the crate. “You told who—?”
Another round fired. Wooden fragments from the edge of the crate on Toben’s side splintered and bounced in the air. Toben was quiet. His eyes widened. His eyebrows rose. His mouth fell open. Black had seen this look before. He’s shot.
20.
TOBEN CLOSED HIS eyes tightly, flattened his lips, and leaned forward, gripping his shoulder and slightly rocking back and forth. Black looked over his back and examined the injury. A smiled crossed his face.
“It’s a flesh wound. The bullet grazed you,” he whispered.
“Feels a lot worse than that,” Toben replied in a low tone.
“Trust me. The worst you’ll have is a scar,” Black whispered, peeping over the crate. “I think I know where he is. I’ll need you to distract him.”
“How?”
Next to Black was a small pile with hunks of chopped wood. He picked up a piece.
“You two are quiet!” Stokes hollered. “Did I hit one of you?” he followed with a laugh.
Black moved the index finger of the hand he was using to hold the piece of wood to his lips, signaling for Toben to remain quiet. Then he shouted, “You’re going to pay for that!”
Stokes chuckled. “So I must have hit Toben,” he said. “Is he still with us, Black?”
Black said nothing and continued to gesture for Toben to remain silent.
“Black?” Stokes continued.
Black remained quiet.
“Good. Because I was hoping to save you for last. I’m going to enjoy it. You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you stuck your nose into my business.”
Black flung the chunk of wood to his left. It came to rest after a few clunks and dings. Stokes fired two rounds at the noise. Then Black picked up another piece of wood and handed it to Toben. Black nodded. Toben nodded back to let him know he understood the plan and hurled the block towards the left again. It knocked and thumped, and two more shots were fired in its direction. Black hustled to the right, swiftly but quietly. He knelt behind a stack of plywood and peered around the corner in the direction of the two pillars. Lightning flashed, illuminating the open room. Black caught a glimpse of Stokes’ shadow behind the pillars. Now I know exactly where you are.
He kept an eye on him, waiting. The anticipation made the next minute that passed feel like ten. Another noise echoed from the opposite side of the area. Black darted towards the pillars. Stokes was able to fire one round towards the sound before Black was on him. He turned to face Black and attempted to a
im the gun, but his hand was stuck between the pillars. Black hit him with a jab and the DIA agent dropped his gun between the pillars and faltered backward. Black skipped forward, planting the sole of his boot on Stokes’ chest and rolling him backward, smashing into some tools and buckets. Stokes crawled to his feet with a two-by-four in hand and thrust it into Black’s stomach. The force from the blow caused Black to shuffle back a few steps. His gut turned with rage as he glared at Stokes, who swung the piece of lumber at his head. Black ducked and punched him in the ribs with one hand then used the other to punch his stomach, allowing the jab to flow into an uppercut to the chin. Stokes wobbled backward and dropped the piece of wood, clawing at anything that would break his fall. Black continued after him with a fierce sidekick to the chest, sending him crashing through a wall and splashing onto the puddled walkway outside. Black climbed through the break in the wall, stepping outside where the rain once again poured on his head and ran down his face.
Stokes lifted himself to his knees, coughing as the rain slapped the back of his sport coat. Black towered over him from behind.
“It’s over, Stokes,” he said. “There are only two ways this can go, the easy way or the hard way. You give up and turn yourself in with no fighting, no problems. Or I’ll knock you out and drag you in.”
Stokes flung water towards Black’s face. The water was inches from his face before he waved it away. By that time Stokes was on his feet, hooking Black in a tackle and scurrying him backward. Black planted his feet, sliding to a stop across the wet pavement before delivering a knee to Stokes’ jaw, grabbing a fist full of his shirt, and tossing him to the ground. The shirt ripped as Stokes hit the concrete, flat on his back, gasping. Black put him to sleep with a boot to the face.
“I guess some people just like the hard way,” he said to himself, sighing.
“Black!” Toben called, “You got him?” Holding his shoulder, he craned through the hole in the wall.
Black nodded and Toben smiled, pumping a victory fist.
The rain eased up and Black gazed into the cloud-filled night sky. Drops of rain hit his face as he exhaled, then smiled. A theme park and bad weather. Two things I’m not fond of.
AN HOUR LATER, he was in the main office lounge, enjoying two things he was very fond of—coffee and pastries. His clothes were still a little damp so he had two cups of coffee, figuring it would help him keep warm. He finished up and stepped outside. The rain had stopped completely but it was very wet out. The parking lot was swarming with cop cars, other emergency responder vehicles, and workers. He spotted Toben sitting in the back of an ambulance, watching as an EMR patched a bandage to his shoulder. Black walked over as Toben stood and thanked the EMR.
“How’s the shoulder?” Black asked.
“Like you said. It’s nothing—just a few stitches,” Toben answered, looking over at a police officer who was escorting a handcuffed Tyler. “Hold up,” he hollered, waving down the officer and jogging over.
Black followed him.
“Where are you taking him?” Toben asked the officer.
“He’ll be going to FBI HQ for questioning. After that I don’t know,” the officer answered.
Tyler kept his head down but raised his eyes at Toben. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment before Toben sighed.
“Lucky for you, no one was hurt by your direct involvement. You may be able to get off easy if you cooperate,” he said.
Tyler lifted his head. His cheeks hollowed and his lips parted.
Toben elevated his hand towards him. “Don’t say anything,” he said. “This officer is going to take you to the FBI for questioning. Tell them everything. The truth, okay?”
Tyler slowly nodded as Toben’s phone rang.
“I have to take this,” he said, turning away from the group.
“C’mon. Let’s go, kid,” the officer said, tugging at Tyler’s arm.
“One minute,” Tyler requested. “Sir,” he called to Black with a crackle in his voice.
Black raised his index finger to the officer, gesturing it was okay.
“Was that man really my father?” Tyler continued. “I want to know. He may know my mom, my family.”
Black looked away and took in a breath, carefully considering his words before exhaling. “How many foster parents have you had?”
“Three.”
“When they took you in, did they make you feel welcome?”
“Yes.”
“Did they make sure you had what you needed?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they call you their son?”
Tyler paused for a moment. “Yes,” he answered in a low tone, clearing his throat.
“Would you say they loved you?”
Tyler dropped his head and nodded. “Yes…”
“Then they’re your parents. That’s your family,” Black finished.
Tyler looked at him with watering eyes before dropping his head.
“Okay, kid, let’s go,” the officer said.
Black watched as the officer guided Tyler to a squad car. He kept his eyes on them until Toben walked back over.
“Okay… Just had a conference call with Chapp, Boyar, and Hanten. They’ve been at the office working all night. They’re going home to get some food and rest up to be back in a few hours,” he said.
“It’ll be early in the morning there,” Black commented.
“Yep. But Homeland’s work here is done. The FBI will take it from here. I’m so happy this is over.”
Black said nothing.
The two made their way over to the Ford Fusion, which was surprisingly unblocked by any vehicles. On the way, they crossed paths with Stokes. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he was flanked on either side by two officers who were carrying him by his arms. His face was filthy and tired, his hair was wet and messy, and his clothes were ripped. He gave Toben a hard stare and Black an even harder glare as he hobbled by.
“I’m still not satisfied,” Black said, stopping and turning to Toben. “We’re missing something.”
“What do you mean?” Toben asked.
“I mean, Stokes didn’t seem too interested in helping Tyler.”
“Okay. So he’s a jerk.”
Black sighed, shaking his head. “But why would he even—?” He paused, staring at Stokes and catching a glimpse of an image he had seen before.
One of the officers with Stokes was opening the back door to an unmarked car. Black walked towards them. Toben followed.
“Wait a second!” Black called to the officer.
The officer looked over his shoulder. “Sir,” he said.
Black walked past him and stepped in front of Stokes. He moved a shred from Stokes’ torn shirt, exposing his chest and an ink tattoo of a symbol familiar to Black.
“Nice tat,” Black remarked.
Stokes looked at him and scoffed.
“If that’s it, sir, we have a long drive,” the officer said, opening the car door and guiding Stokes into the back seat.
“What was that about?” Toben asked.
“I think I know what we’re missing.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you on the way back, let’s go.”
THE DRIVE BACK to the airstrip felt quicker than the drive to the theme park. They drove forty-five minutes on I-4 West before taking the exit for Lakeland Linder International Airport.
“Are you sure about that, Black?” Toben asked as they entered the airport.
“Yep,” Black answered.
“You sure this isn’t just one of your hunches that needs to be fattened up?”
“Positive.”
“I have to admit it does make sense… but you know what this means?”
“Yep. Everyone will be at the office early so it shouldn’t be an issue.”
Toben nodded at the wheel. They stopped outside near the familiar jet, where they met the pilots and an airport employee. The employee took the key for the Ford Fusion from Toben and dr
ove off. Everyone else hustled inside the jet and were in the air twenty minutes later. Black slept most of the flight. When he opened his eyes, the sky was still coated with darkness and the plane was descending towards San Francisco International Airport. Minutes later, the aircraft bumped across the runway. It taxied to a private hangar and parked inside. Black and Toben thanked the pilots and exited the jet, then ducked into a dark-colored sedan. Toben fired up the engine and drove out of the airport and onto the main road. It was a little under an hour before they arrived at the DHS headquarters. It was still dark outside. The grass and parked cars were covered with the morning dew. They eased up to the security gate, where two armed guards waved them through. Toben wheeled the car into the parking garage and found a spot close to the entrance. They entered the lobby and walked towards the elevators, stopping at the receptionist desk, where another armed guard was sitting.
“You’re here early, Agent Toben,” the guard commented. “Whoa. Looks like you’ve had a rough night.”
