by Justin Bell
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Agent Grace opened his eyes as his alarm began its warbling chirp precisely at 5:45 in the morning. He had stayed up as late as he had dared last night, hoping for some excitement from the Strickland residence, but it had not come. Maybe he was waiting for things to blow over? Nothing about this was ever going to 'blow over' until Strickland was out of action for good. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and climbed to a standing position. By six-fifteen, he was on the treadmill and starting his run that took over the next hour of his life.
As happened many days, that routine was interrupted. Just as he crossed into his room a little over an hour later, his phone buzzed in his front hip pocket.
"This is Grace," he said calmly, tossing his damp gym towel on a nearby chair.
"Burndock," the voice said on the other end, because of course it was.
"What's the trouble?"
"Quiet night last night, but when we inventoried the crash scene, we discovered a missing vehicle. We originally thought the motorcycle that the Turner kid rode in was caught in the wreckage, but it wasn't."
"What was it?"
"Ducati street bike. That's what Sandidge is saying. He's pretty pissed off right now. I guess the dead driver was part of his crew. Name was Turner."
"So do we think he's going to use this bike to come back to the house?"
"Not sure on that one, sir. But he took it, so he damn well plans to use it. Just wanted to pass the word along so our watch teams can keep their eyes open for a guy on a Ducati."
"Okay, good. I'll report the situation to Director McKie. Keep me in the loop."
"Will do. Burndock out."
Agent Grace shook his head. William Strickland had been a gold mine of genetic information that could truly change the course of their experiments. However, was he even worth the trouble? He had to think long and hard on that one.
