by Tom Haase
The tac team and a forensic team were at the farm when he arrived. They came from the Roanoke office. He identified himself and the agent in charge relayed instructions for him to report to the Deputy Director of the FBI in Washington in the morning. What the hell does he mean in the morning? It’s already in the morning and I’m four hours drive away.
He walked into the farmhouse and looked around. All the crates were in the same positions as he left them. The picture, however, was missing. He asked if anyone had seen it, but the FBI teams were not interested in a picture when they captured a major arms cache in their possession.
Matt departed and made a quick stop at the hospital to check on John. He found out that the wound was much more serious than either of them believed. The doctor told him John would have to stay for a few days and they needed to do more surgery. That wasn’t good news.
When Matt left Roanoke, he headed for Washington and his meeting with the deputy director. This would be one meeting he didn’t look forward to and he planned on returning later that day to see John. A Wild West type shoot-out, five men dead, weapons in the hands of terrorists, and last, but not least, an agent shot. He could see the DD questions now. It would likely start like, “Other than that, Special Agent Higgins how was your evening?”
Matt used the time during his drive to the capitol to analyze his response to what he knew would be the DD’s attack on his actions. He wanted to stay in a positive mindset. In his opinion, he acted out of necessity and did what the situation demanded.
His mind tried to recall that picture. Why hadn’t it not been there when he returned to the farm? No matter, he had taken a photo. He pulled into a rest stop and examined the photo again. The picture must mean something to someone. He surmised that perhaps the Russian had returned to get it while he took his friend to the hospital. That made sense. If so, the picture must have significance. If the Russian risked coming back so soon to that killing field, it must be so.
The terrorists hadn’t seen or been inside the house, so they wouldn’t know about the picture. The Russian did escape in the hummer, so he had to be the one who returned to retrieve it. No one else could’ve done it, no one else possessed any reason to do it. After looking at the image, Matt conceived another idea. A long time passed since he had spoken to his old sergeant, not since she saved Benjamin Schultz in a motel near Alexandria, Virginia. She owed him a favor for what he did to ensure the shooting fell within legal parameters.
With the screen displaying the photo, he emailed it with a note saying he had no idea about this picture. He requested her help in discerning its importance or meaning. He hit send and drove on toward Washington.
On the bright side, he and his partner had interrupted a major arms transaction, taken out what he considered terrorists, and captured almost all the weapons. As the senior agent on the scene during the takedown, responsibility would fall to him for all his actions. He believed he acted correctly to protect the country from gangsters, terrorists or whoever intended to use those types of weapons on American soil.
Five years had passed since the president ordered him to the FBI following his departure from the Army. At the time, he felt sad to leave the service, but the offer made by the president at that time he accepted. His new job directed that he set up a small company the president could call on for his own use when he needed it to do things outside the establishment box. The president decided his staying in the military would not be good idea if he were to be effective in his new status. After he and Sgt. Donavan set up a private organization, she decided to leave the military and went to get her advanced degrees. So, after the original plan didn’t work out, the president sent him over to become an FBI agent and work there with limited direct access to the White House. That was a thank you for doing a great job in saving the world from a nuclear detonation in the oil fields of the Middle East. The president would be out of office in a few weeks. The new president probably would have no idea of that arrangement.
Matt drove in excess of the speed limit up Interstate 81 trying to get to Washington "in the morning" so he could present himself at the FBI headquarters. He drove toward the capitol, still a few hours out, when his cell phone rang.
“Special Agent Higgins this is Dr. Pulaski, Roanoke Memorial Hospital, your name was on the contact list from agent John Hades. I regret to inform you we did everything to save him. He started internal bleeding while in surgery. The wound he originally thought pierced only in his leg was much worse. The bullet entered there but penetrated into his intestinal area. The massive damage too much and after two hours of surgery your friend passed away. I’m sorry.”
3
Pella, Greece
At seven o'clock in the morning only a little breeze came across the flat open area surrounding the ruins of what had once been the city of Pella, the birthplace of Alexander the Great. These ruins contained only the floors of the ancient houses, as they existed at that time. The city’s fame rested on the fact it contained the home of Phillip of Macedon, Alexander’s father. Today it comprised a small village a few kilometers outside the modern city of Thessaloniki. From this place, Alexander rode into history by conquering the largest empire in the ancient world.
Bridget Donavan brushed away dust from a beautiful mosaic embedded in the floor. This partially uncovered exquisite floor area depicted the battle of the Amazons. She had worked on this project for over a month. Her problems, however, began after her brother’s arrival two days ago because of the news he brought. She now experienced some difficulty focusing on the project.
"Hey, sis, you want to stop for breakfast?" her brother, Scott, asked. He slowly strode over to where she bent down and examined the mosaic.
"Sounds like a great idea. Ask the helpers and our armed guard to come and join us. You know, I think that big tough guard thinks he’s the terminator.” She gave a small laugh.
"Yes, you’re right, a real tough guy.” Scott joined in the humor. “By the way, Gerti brought some baked goods from the city. She also has some Greek coffee. I'm sure that will wake us up, if nothing else does.”
"Be right with you. Go on. I'll catch up," Bridget said.
She looked around the area and noticed Scott waved toward the two hired day laborers and the guard to come and join them for food. She again became struck by what a handsome specimen Scott had turned into. Bridget thought about her brother’s piercing black eyes and his long, black hair that no one could convince him to cut. His naturally olive skin made him a handsome fellow in anyone’s book. Not bad for a twenty-six-year-old with such striking eyes.
She had no problem seeing why Gerti appeared to be in love with him. Gertrude Schultz was a raving beauty in her own right, but her father could certainly be Bridget’s downfall if she failed to solve her money problem. Mr. Schultz blamed her for a deception and the theft, as he saw it, of five million dollars. That news Scott had delivered on his arrival.
On the other hand, it had been a relaxing couple of weeks while working on this excavation. No one knew where she went, until this week. She’d emailed Scott about her work in Pella and within two days he arrived at the excavation with Gerti. They relayed the news that her father went on the warpath against Bridget because he thought she had betrayed him.
Gerti swore she hadn’t told her father Bridget’s location and scrupulously kept him in the dark as to her accompanying Scott on this trip to Greece. Schultz did not seem to blame Scott for any wrongdoing as opposed to his actions against Bridget, so Scott and Gerti continued to be together and appeared to be forming a closer bond every day.
A trained archaeologist, Bridget used some of the money from the bible sale to secure permission from the Greek government to work at Pella for three weeks. She now hoped to find something that might make up for the rift between her and Mr. Schultz. A rift, more like the Grand Canyon, over a five million dollar misunderstanding. She grimaced at the thought of it and she intended to stay out of his reach in this northern part of Greece. S
he decided to hide out here until she could think of a way out of this predicament. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Schultz caught up with her. He controlled enough money and employed the assets to make that happen.
Her cell pinged with the arrival of an incoming message. She started to open it when she recognized that the email came from Matt Higgins, her old Army commander and now an FBI agent. She hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night she killed the man attempting to terminate Mr. Schultz. That night she would always remember, but why would he contact her now?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two vehicles approaching at high speed. When the vehicles screeched to a stop at the foot of the path leading to her position, six men with AK-47s jumped out, her heart rate doubled as now its beat all she could hear.
"Scott, Gerti. Run,” she shouted.
As she saw the events unfolding before her eyes, the helpers ran off, followed by the armed security guard. Some Terminator he turned out to be.
She ran towards Scott and Gerti as they gathered their equipment. Before she could reach them, she saw Gerti swing at one of the attackers with a hammer. It connected with the man's chest, but he didn't do anything to retaliate. Two men moved in and subdued Gerti, forcing her to the ground but not hurting her. Scott struck out, using his fists, but they pummeled him to the ground.
"What the hell are you doing here? Who are you?" Bridget shouted, running toward them. Both Scott and Gerti were being tied up, their mouths quickly taped over. She approached a lone man standing by himself, staring at her.
"Are you deaf? What the hell are you doing here?"
Without any warning, the man swung the butt of his rifle straight at her head. That was the last thing Bridget Donavan saw.
4
Washington, DC
Office of the Deputy Director of the FBI
Matt waited in the anteroom for Deputy Director Rose. The secretary didn’t even look at him or offer him coffee or a drink. The DD forced him to wait for thirty minutes, which Matt assumed to be some form of disciplinary action in itself, but it gave him the time to reflect on the loss of John. He questioned his own decision and his heart filled with regret that a man under his command had lost his life. That thought burned into his consciousness like a branding iron being applied. But he concluded his actions embodied the correct course to take to protect American lives from those who intended to do harm to his country. At this final thought, he saw the secretary walk toward him, he believed he made the right call and now he would have to live with his decision and the loss of John.
The receptionist told him to go into the inner office. After knocking once, he entered. Deputy Director Rose, a thin man with graying hair and pasty skin, sat behind a massive wood desk. He wore a dark blue suit and a pale blue tie that accentuated his almost ghostly appearance.
"Special Agent Higgins, you fucked up. I mean big time," were the first words out of the DD’s mouth. "Your mission at the farmhouse was to observe and report only. You went off and played John Wayne. Now we have a dead agent. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Matt waited a moment before he responded. He needed the few seconds to compose and to control his anger. He hadn’t really expected this type of intimidation technique. To show his own irritation, he put his hands behind his back and went into a military parade rest position.
"My actions were dictated by the situation, sir. The terrorists intended to transport a large shipment of weapons. I couldn’t allow that to happen. Therefore, I took action to stop it," Matt said without taking his eyes off the man.
"That's not your call,” the DD shouted. “Your job is to obey the orders you are given."
"I thought my job was to protect American citizens from any acts of terrorism."
"We had high hopes for you.” The DD stood up. “You were sent here from Des Moines on temporary duty to see how you would fit in at the national level. In my opinion, you have failed. Your temporary duty here is suspended and you are to return to Iowa, hopefully, never to be seen here again. You got an agent killed, and there's no excuse for that."
Matt opened his mouth to say a few words in his defense.
"Dismissed," the DD said, cutting Matt off before he could speak. He waved his hand signifying the final dismissal.
Matt came to an attention position, rotated, and departed from the office. He wanted to hit someone, anyone, anything. It wasn't his fault. He took what he deemed the right course of action. He went out into the hallway, extracted his cell phone, and dialed the number the president gave him years before.
The conversation lasted less than a minute and the president told him to do what he needed to do. Matt already knew what he needed to do. The call served as just a gesture on his part to the man who secured him the FBI position.
Matt closed the cell phone, placed it back in his pocket, and walked with purpose to the outer door to the DD's office and entered. He did not look at the receptionist, nor did he stop by the secretary’s desk. He simply pushed open the DD’s door.
"What the hell are you doing back here? I told you where to go."
Matt unbuckled his jacket, took out his service weapon and his badge. Then he held them out in front of him and slammed them down on the desk. The DD pushed back from his desk at the vehemence displayed by Matt.
"Fuck you, you arrogant asshole.” Matt strode out of the office, leaving the door open. He slammed the outer door on his way out of the building. Once outside, he realized what a beautiful day had enveloped in the nation’s capitol. However, he felt extremely tired after being up all night. He decided to walk to his apartment in Alexandria. A long walk, but it would give him time to clear his head, think about things, and decide what he wanted to do in the future.
At this moment, he didn't really have a future.
5
Athens, Greece
When Bridget regained consciousness, someone ripped the hood off her head. She blinked her eyes to try and gain focus. She shook her head to get strands of her red hair out of her eyes. The bright overhead lights caused some confusion in her mind in addition to the pounding just above her left eye. Focus, she told herself. Get a grip. Don’t let the fear overpower you. Fear is the mind killer. She took a deep breath and moved various parts of her body. She didn’t find any other damage to herself and tried to get up, but the bindings on her arms and feet prevented that.
“Hello, Bridget,” a voice said.
She tried to remember. Yes, she recognized the voice. She’d thought that more fear could possibly grow in her than already existed. She was wrong. When she recognized the voice, more fear rocketed into her mind.
She tried to talk, but her mouth felt like sandpaper, her throat parched, preventing any intelligent sound. Someone from behind grabbed her hair, pulled her head back and poured water over her. She took as much as she could into her mouth. She felt the pure relief in her dehydrated throat. Her voice returned.
“Hello, Mr. Schultz,” she managed to get out in a rather raspy voice. What would he do to her?
“Miss Donavan, I flew over here to see you and to watch you die. Anyone who steals from me takes me for a complete fool. You thought to take my five million dollars and get away with it. You are indeed the greater fool.” He took a sip from a coffee cup and replaced it on a small table beside the chair he occupied.
“We didn’t steal your money.” She managed to sound more like herself with this statement.
“Oh, I see. You gave me a fake bible, instead of the original Bible of Constantine, and afterwards you cashed my check for five million, but you don’t consider it robbery?”
Bridget bowed her head. She needed to think of a logical and reasonable response. She’d known this day might be inevitable and tried to prepare her position. Nothing prepared her for this and nothing was what she had right now.
“We didn’t know it was a fake when we gave it to you.” She tried to stare into his eyes.
“I don’t believe you. You cash
ed my check and disappeared. We were supposed to enter a partnership to conduct future projects. You completed two such ventures and I believed you and your brother could be valuable in continuing to conduct that sort of business, which would have been very lucrative for all. You, however, decided to double-cross your new partner on the first opportunity.”
Bridget knew what he said appeared to be the truth from his perspective. There was no denying his position. She needed to respond, but he didn’t look like he wanted to hear anything from her at this moment. She hoped he would at some point.
“So I have no choice,” he said. “I can’t allow this transgression to go unavenged. I admit I owe you something for saving my life in Washington. I’ve thanked you for that and even entered into a partnership with you to show my gratitude. You betrayed me. As a favor, I’ll dispatch you quickly instead of what I want to do.” Schultz took another sip of coffee.
“We didn’t betray you and we didn’t know we gave you a fake bible.”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear any of your lies or excuses.” Schultz came out of his chair with such speed that Bridget winced, fearing he would kill her at that moment. She believed him capable of such an act.
“Please, listen,” Bridget said.
“No. I had you taken and you alone will pay for that deception, as I believe you are singularly responsible. Gerti is with Scott and I’ll not kill him because of my daughter’s love for your brother. I believe he didn’t plan this deception. You did.”
“No, I didn’t.” Bridget finally shouted her denial.
“Of course you did,” Schultz insisted.
“I didn’t find out till your daughter told Scott what happened. He just told me a few days ago. Please listen to me. Jonathan McGregor switched the bibles in the hour before we handed them to you. We didn’t have any idea it wasn’t the original. Somehow McGregor managed to get away with it and leave me believing I held the original. That is the bible I delivered to you.” Bridget took a breath. Her throat now dry again.
