Friction

by Dwayne Gill

  Miami, Florida

  Barkley sat in the driver’s seat of the car with Detective Gonzalez beside her. He’d parked his unmarked vehicle a block away and had been waiting with her for the past hour. They’d opted against having more police officers present, since they didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.

  Even though everything in the neighborhood seemed peaceful, Barkley couldn’t stop feeling anxious. Something didn’t feel right, though she couldn’t explain what. She’d thoroughly examined every car in the vicinity and had even run the plates on a couple. Every vehicle belonged, and they had observed no suspicious pedestrian activity. If someone was waiting for the family to return, they were doing a bang-up job of disguising it.

  Gonzalez was a tall, dark-complexioned man, his skin just a shade lighter than Barkley’s caramel tone. He carried himself with confidence but was laid back; Barkley could see herself knocking back drinks and chatting with him under different circumstances.

  They’d had the past hour to talk, and it was pleasant, other than Gonzalez’s questions about Swelling. Hart hadn’t told him anything of value, so the detective was very curious about the latest development involving the missing children. He’d been working the Shauna Pool case when Hart asked him to help Barkley.

  “Is that their vehicle?” asked Gonzalez, referencing the silver SUV coming down the street.

  “Looks like it,” said Barkley.

  “Keep a close eye on the neighborhood,” said Gonzalez. “If someone’s waiting for them, now’s the time they’d surface.”

  The silver Tahoe pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the garage doors. Barkley waited for them to open, but nothing happened. She glanced around, but the neighborhood was as calm as ever. “Let’s go,” said Barkley.

  As they exited the car and walked toward the home, Barkley saw David Rogers, the father, out of the Tahoe, inspecting the garage door. “Looks like the doors won’t open,” said Gonzalez.

  Barkley could still sense her anxiety, something gnawing at her nerves, and it wasn’t relenting. Barkley felt like she was missing something. If she were a kidnapper, how would she approach this abduction?

  As David Rogers walked to the front door, followed by his wife, Amelia, and Tina, it came to her. The malfunctioning garage door had been the final clue. Barkley took off running, screaming at the family to stop. Gonzalez cursed and ran with her, trailing right behind.

  David Rogers was standing in front of his door, keys in hand, when he turned to look back at Barkley. Her frantic shouts panicked all three family members, and they froze in place, trying to make sense of what was happening. Barkley was only twenty feet away and closing, but before she reached their driveway, the front door of the house burst inward, and in a flash, David Rogers disappeared inside the dark home.

  “What the hell?” asked Gonzalez.

  Barkley should have spotted the most obvious clue before; every light in the house was out. Though it might not be unusual for a family to kill most of the interior lights while vacationing, it was standard practice to leave a few on to give the appearance of someone being home. Initially, Barkley thought of an EMP being the culprit, but none of the other homes nearby had been affected, meaning the intruders likely just cut the power.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Barkley. She already had her gun out, though she wouldn’t shoot with the family in her line of fire.

  Amelia hardly had time to process what had happened to her husband before hands gripped her and yanked her inside, too. Because Tina had been holding her mother’s hand, the force pulled her as well, as the same hands reached out, secured the kid, and brought her inside.

  Just like that, the entire family was gone. Barkley readied her pistol and slowed when she approached the house while Gonzalez stood to her left, gun raised. “They’re going to the back,” said Gonzalez. He moved toward the gate leading to the backyard, but Barkley waved him off.

  “I’ll go,” she said. “Watch the front.”

  Barkley hurdled the gate easily, remembering how she’d refused to inspect the backyard earlier. She felt stupid now, for had she trusted her instincts, she would likely have noticed the intruders’ entry point. If my carelessness costs Tina her life… She pushed the thought aside. She could still save the girl.

  Barkley stepped carefully to the back corner of the house, listening for movement. When she heard nothing, she peeked her head around and saw a screened-in back patio. There was a shadow standing inside by the back door, but Barkley couldn’t tell who it was. Her hands were trembling now, her pistol wavering as she held aim. Barkley had been in tense situations before, but none this suspenseful, and few that relied on her judgment so heavily. The shadow wasn’t moving, so she continued her approach, one small step at a time. She could easily put a bullet in the silhouette, but she wouldn’t do so until she identified the apparition. She was standing next to the screen now, moving her head to try to reveal the person standing on the other side.

  “Help,” the man said. It was David. Barkley ran around to the patio door and yanked it open, gun still raised, and David stood, his eyes locked on hers, terrified. She immediately noticed something was amiss, but before she had a chance to do anything, David’s chest exploded outward. Blood and tissue flew through the air, landing in front of Barkley, and as David fell forward, she saw the marked man behind him, holding a shotgun.

  Barkley had a choice: either fire or scramble for cover. She’d already heard the old-model shotgun pump once, signaling the marked man had chambered another and was ready to fire. If she shot, it would be, at best, simultaneous with his, and she would lose that duel. She chose instead to leap sideways and to her right, and her quick thinking saved her life.

  As she rolled, she heard the gun blast and felt a burn in her left calf, but she knew she’d avoided the worst of the pellets’ impact. A table disintegrated from the brunt of the shot, sending what little was left of it tumbling back against the patio wall. She heard another series of gunshots coming from the front of the house, and she could only hope that Gonzalez was okay.

  Barkley got to her knees and aimed while the marked man pumped his shotgun again, giving her the advantage, and she put three rounds in the man’s chest. He stood straight up, wobbled, but didn’t fall. In fact, as Barkley watched in disbelief, the man glided toward her.

  Barkley took too long to make sense of what was happening. The marked man was suddenly thrown to the side, revealing yet another, and he was close. Too close. She tried to fire, but he rammed into her with enough force to drive her into the back wall, through the screened partition, and onto a massive flowerbed below. Her gun went flying as the man crashed down on top of her. Barkley had no idea where her gun landed and couldn’t waste time trying to find it. Her sidearm was holstered to her ankle, but she’d never have time to retrieve it.

  She tried to get to her feet, but the marked man had already recovered from his tumble. He kicked her in the face as she was on her knees, sending her crashing to her right side. It was the hardest blow she’d ever felt. The man kicked her in the ribs, twice, and she felt the intense pain all the way to her toes. Her whole body tingled, and she knew she was in serious trouble.

  The man grabbed Barkley by the hair and pulled upward while she clawed at his hands in vain. She was on her feet but wobbly, and the man released one hand long enough to send a crushing punch to her face. His fist landed squarely on her nose and eyes, nearly causing her to pass out from the pain. I have no chance, she thought. Another punch landed in the same spot; she tasted blood and couldn’t breathe. Barkley fought the urge to go to sleep, for she knew if she did, her life was over. The man reared back again, but this time Barkley yanked her head away, his single-handed grip failing to keep hold of her hair.

  Barkley fell to the ground hard and rolled onto her stomach. She scraped the flowerbed in wide arcs, trying desperately to find her gun. The marked man stepped on her back and pressed, and she could hear him laughing. “Pathetic,” he s
aid.

  She refused to give up, though, for she had nothing to lose. When her hand finally brushed against something metallic, she thought she’d found her gun, but it was the end of a water hose. She gripped the spray nozzle and sobbed, frustrated, then found something else. It felt like a spade.

  The marked man reached down, gripped her waist, and pulled her back toward him, but he wasn’t expecting her next move. In a flash, and with every ounce of strength she had, Barkley flipped around and jabbed the spade into the man’s left eye. He immediately let her go and stumbled back, holding his socket and yelling. He knocked the embedded spade loose, and it fell. She didn’t want to risk retrieving it, so she grabbed the nozzle and pulled the hose behind her.

  The man was on his knees, leaning forward, so Barkley jumped around to his back and looped the hose around his neck several times. He thrashed and resisted, but she managed to get enough around him to apply force. She fell backward, causing him to arch his back, and pulled with all her might. With her right hand, she pressed the sharp throttle of the nozzle into his other eye and dug in. The marked man was screaming wildly now, in obvious pain, but she only applied more force. She put all her weight into the choke now, locking her legs around his waist so he couldn’t squirm free.

  Minutes later, the man went limp, but Barkley still held on, wanting to make sure he was dead. She could hear sirens approaching, so she released the dead man, sprang to her feet, and wiped the blood from her face. She was sure he’d broken her nose, and she felt the gushing blood running into her mouth.

  Barkley unsheathed her sidearm, ignoring the discomfort, and tried to gather herself. She still had trouble focusing, so she took deep breaths with her mouth; she couldn’t breathe through her nose.

  Barkley stumbled toward the back door of the house, avoiding the two dead men on the patio. There was no noise coming from within, but she remained alert. Inside the back entrance was a formal den, which was empty, then a hall. She staggered to the kitchen and into the front living room, where she saw a woman lying on her stomach. The front door was still open, but there was no sign of Gonzalez, which was worrisome.

  After checking the room, she walked to the lady on the floor. She turned out to be Amelia Rogers. The mother stirred as Barkley searched for her pulse and passed back out. She seemed to have no serious wounds but had a bloody bump on her head.

  Barkley’s blood dripped on Amelia as she rose, prompting her to wipe her face again. Her shirt was covered in blood, even the sleeves. She walked to the front door, looked out, and saw Gonzalez on his back in the driveway, sprawled out with his gun on the ground beside him. As Barkley stepped toward him, two Miami PD cruisers slid to a stop in the driveway with their lights flashing. Barkley looked to the neighbor’s house, the same ones she’d talked to earlier, and saw the mother standing in her doorway, holding the same toddler.

  As the Miami PD officers shouted orders, Barkley sank to her knees and dropped her sidearm, hearing it clank on the concrete. It was over. She had failed.

  Tina was gone.

  Bad Timing

  October 1, 2028

  5:30 p.m. EST

  FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

  Clyde Plumber’s head was spinning. When he was sworn in as interim director, he knew the government had trusted him to clean up the mess in the bureau, but he never thought his investigation would lead him into science-fiction madness. He sat at his desk, staring at the wall, trying to figure out what to do next.

  The Miami PD had Agent Barkley in custody, though she’d already been cleared of any wrongdoing. She’d refused to be brought to a hospital to treat her injuries, although none were life-threatening. Agent Barkley had a broken nose, two black eyes, and a few shotgun pellets in her calf. They had found two marked men dead at the Rogers residence, along with David Rogers and Detective Gonzalez. Amelia Rogers was alive, but someone had abducted Tina, the daughter.

  Plumber couldn’t help but feel pride for Barkley, for though she hadn’t saved David or Tina, she’d killed two of the three alleged perpetrators and survived.

  Now was decision time; there was pressure coming from above to bring Hart and Barkley in because of their role in the previous weeks’ events. Plumber had been on board with this decision until he’d spoken to Hart and Barkley the day before. He trusted Hart, and now the things he had warned Plumber about whirled through his mind. Events were unfolding just as the agent had predicted.

  Plumber had already spoken to Agent Flanagan, and she’d revealed Hart’s plans for the doctor in Chicago. If what Hart had uncovered was true, it was a disturbing development. Furthermore, Hart discovered that one of the doctor’s presumed victims was the son of a senator. All this information, paired with the disappearance of Mary Swelling, Shauna Pool, Tina Rogers, and Dennis Bowman, had forced Plumber to reconsider everything he thought he knew. Hart had warned about the corruption reaching further than they were aware of, and so far, he’d been correct. Plumber was losing trust in the entire government, not knowing who else could be complicit. Just how far does the corruption go?

  Plumber wanted to talk to Barkley, and because of the internal pressure from his superiors, Barkley had to be temporarily detained until he questioned her. However, the fiery agent was throwing a fit about leaving the Miami area, so he decided he’d take a trip south. He’d rather speak to her away from Washington, anyway.

  First, Plumber had something he needed to do. Bowman’s abduction wasn’t official yet, though he believed Hart was right about the captain being captured. While he had no leads on Swelling, Pool, or Rogers, he did have an idea of how to find Bowman’s location. In fact, the man who could uncover the answers sat in front of him right now. Humphrey Gray, an ex-CIA spook, was a man Plumber trusted with his life, and he could get information quickly. The only problem: he wasn’t exactly official.

  “I want everything you can get on Senator Theodore Simon,” said Plumber. “And I want it now.”

  Gray nodded, grinned, and left the room without another word.

  Plumber was tired of screwing around.

  *

  October 1, 2028

  8:00 p.m. EST

  Herald Harbor, Maryland

  Things were falling into place nicely for Vinson. Despite losing two more men, he now had Tina Rogers, who was on her way to unite with Swelling and Shauna Pool in Miami. Travis would watch over the three until they executed them in front of Cane, if things went according to plan.

  More importantly, Vinson had Cane’s mentor in front of him. Bowman was unconscious for now, a brief respite from his earlier torture, which had yielded nothing of value. Vinson admired the captain; very few men had ever held out this long under such duress. The only harder man Vinson had seen was Bowman’s buddy, Brandon Webb, who he’d been unable to break for weeks now. Webb was all but useless, his brain mush from all the hours of torment. The CIA man might have value as a bargaining chip for Bowman, but Vinson doubted it. He suspected Bowman was made of the same grit as Webb.

  Vinson grinned at Bowman’s predicament; the soldier was leaned forward and had drool falling from his open mouth. His face looked like it had been through a meat grinder. Vinson couldn’t wait to see Cane’s expression as he watched the people he cared about die painfully.

  Vinson had Cane’s phone number but didn’t want to use it yet. He’d considered calling and demanding Cane abandon his pursuit of the third man of their trio, but that hadn’t turned out so well when Amos tried a similar tactic. Vinson still hoped to uncover the mystery man’s identity naturally and surprise all three men, but time was working against him.

  So far, Vinson knew Colonel Mathis was involved, and the third man was overseas somewhere, but that wasn’t much to go on. He’d considered using his undercover sergeant to beat it out of Mathis, but that would be hard to do at Fort Bragg.

  Even if Cane and Daniel found their man, it wasn’t the end of the world. Vinson and his lieutenants were way ahead of the game, and now that the Russian
s were fully on board, there was nothing the three men could do to stop what was coming.

  Vinson considered the irony of this; just weeks ago he’d chastised Amos and Mick for buying into conspiracy theories and giving too much credit to their nemeses. Here Vinson was now, devising a well-crafted plan with the sole intent of bringing them to their knees.

  Something had changed in Vinson since Amos’s death; maybe what he was doing was to honor Amos. Vinson still felt a level of guilt for not taking Amos’s concerns more seriously, and all remaining six leaders now had to bear the load of Vinson’s neglect. Whether it was unfounded paranoia that drew the lieutenants to want to eradicate Cane, Daniel, and the third man, or if it was hatred, competitiveness, or revenge, Vinson felt the need to give them what they wanted, if it didn’t jeopardize their overall goal.

  Bowman was stirring now, but Vinson waited patiently. Mick, one of his lieutenants, was to return at any moment with hopefully more news regarding the whereabouts of their mystery man. Vinson shouted through the door behind him, and a few moments later Mick entered with several other men.

  “What if this third man isn’t just an American citizen?” asked Mick.

  “Right,” said Vinson. “He could be anyone.”

  They’d searched by every means for this man’s identity, convinced for years he wasn’t even alive. Cane and Daniel had been easy to find once they knew the markers, but the other man hadn’t been so obvious.

  “What if Colonel Mathis is so willing to search for this man because he’s one of his own?” asked Mick.

  It made sense, Vinson admitted. Bowman had the same relationship with Cane. The problem was that Mathis oversaw a program called Red Alpha, which included hundreds of soldiers. Narrowing it down from that list would prove difficult. “That doesn’t help much,” said Vinson.

  “It does,” said Mick. “I think the man they’re looking for is a POW.”

  “Why?” asked Vinson.