36: A Novel (24 page)

“Need some air,” I said, flipping the light switch off before opening the door.

I stepped out, taking a deep breath for the first time since we’d walked into the room.  A moment later, Julie joined me.  I left the door open and didn’t move very far away.  If I saw or heard anything, I was prepared to dash back inside.

“Come up with any bright ideas?”  She asked.

“I’m going to call the FBI agent you talked to,” I nodded.  “Tell him what’s going on and ask him to help you.”

“He’s got that much juice?”

“Yes,” I said.  “At least I think so.  Honestly, this is my first mission.  I’ve been working with him for several months, but this is the first time I’ve been in the field and don’t really know how he’s going to react.  Probably going to chew me a new one.”

“Then maybe it’s not a good idea to call him,” she said.

“Not much choice,” I said.  “Besides.  I’ll have to include you in my debrief.  I’d rather take my lumps now and make sure you’re taken care of.”

We stood there while she finished her smoke.  The evening was waning.  There was still the roar of traffic from the road on the other side of the building, but it felt like people were settling in for the night.

Back in the room, I opened my pack and pulled out the iPad and the secure phone.  Activating the tablet, the timer window popped up.  Return to real time was in fifteen hours and eleven minutes.

“What’s that?”  She asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Time to extraction,” I said.

I may have already told her more than I should have, but I wasn’t about to start talking about time travel.  Besides divulging secrets that would probably land me in more hot water than I could handle, she’d immediately decide I was deranged.

Closing the iPad, I lifted the phone and powered it on.  Time to call Johnson.  I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.  While I waited for it to finish booting and find a signal, Julie found the remote and turned on the TV.  As soon as it came on, a news report was playing.  Holding the handset, I stepped back and looked at the television screen.

An off camera reporter was talking as the image slowly panned across the parking lot of the apartment complex.  There were more cop cars than I’d ever seen in one place.  Yellow police tape completely surrounded the entire area and it looked like all of the residents had been rousted and herded outside the perimeter of the crime scene.  There was also a large contingent of men wearing suits and when one of them moved I spied the dull, gold badge on his belt that identified him as FBI.

“…the FBI is on scene and a source who wants to remain anonymous has told me that this appears to be related to terrorism.  I don’t have details to substantiate that statement, but based on the significant response and presence of federal authorities, the information seems accurate.

“Recapping, a shootout between unknown subjects at this apartment building in Downey has left nine dead.  The number of victims has been confirmed by the Downey Police Department.  What we do know is that there are eight dead inside an apartment on the second floor,” the camera zoomed to a shot of the balcony, the emergency escape ladder still hanging from the railing.  “And one additional dead just behind me in the parking lot.”

The camera changed perspective, zooming in on a large group of evidence collection technicians huddled around the spot where I’d killed the terrorist leader.  Several of the techs were wearing blue windbreakers with FBI emblazoned across the back in large, yellow letters.

“A large quantity of military style assault weapons has been recovered from the parking lot, apparently adjacent to the body that was found.  At this time, no other information has been provided by any of the agencies involved, but we’re very early in the investigation.”

The reporter, a young, blonde woman with a perfect smile, continued to rattle on as the camera cut to a shot of her standing next to a police cruiser with roof lights flashing.  She continued to repeat what she’d just said, putting it in a slightly different order without providing any new information.  Her job was to keep talking, filling the time until something new was released by the authorities.

“Well, that’s good,” Julie said.  “At least our pictures aren’t on TV yet, and they aren’t mentioning the police looking for anyone.”

“Yet,” I said, returning my attention to the phone.

Pressing a couple of keys, I initiated a call to the only number it would dial.  Agent Johnson.  It rang one time before it was answered.

“You’ve made a mess, Mr. Whitman,” he said immediately when the call was picked up.

“Not as much as there would have been,” I said, a little defensively.

“I’m sure I’ll learn all about that in a few hours,” he said.  “But right now you’ve kicked over a hornet’s nest.  I’m monitoring traffic and every three letter agency I can think of is getting involved.  Since you’re calling me, I’m guessing you’re in a secure location at the moment.”

“Yes, we are,” I said, without thinking about the
we
part of that.

There was dead silence for several beats before he spoke again.

“We?  Would that be the woman that called me?  Ms. Julie Broussard?”  He asked in a low voice that made me cringe.

“Yes,” I said, steeling myself and charging ahead with the conversation.  “Without her I’d be in the hands of the police right now.  She provided some cover and we made it out of the immediate area, but we’re still too close.  And she’s going to have a problem after I, uh… after I’m extracted.”

“She most certainly will,” he said, exasperation clear in his voice.  “OK, we’ll discuss operational security when you get back.  For now, what do I need to know that I don’t?”

“Well, we’re at the…”

“Downey Motor Inn,” he interrupted.  “Your phone gave me precise coordinates when you called.”

“Right,” I said, slightly disconcerted.  “She stuck her neck out for me.  And she needs some help.”

“What does she know?”  He asked.

“Enough,” I said, evasively.  “She was Army.  Combat medic in Iraq.  She’s seen enough Special Ops to know what was going on.  Understand?”

“I believe so.  She’s unaware of the project?”

“Correct,” I said, noting that Julie had taken a seat on the bed and lit another cigarette as she listened intently to my conversation.

“You’d better hope so.  For her sake.”

“The cops have us on a dash cam,” I said, ignoring his ominous statement.  “And I’m probably on security video somewhere from the cameras in the parking lot.”

“The parking lot footage has already been taken care of.  As soon as I received Ms. Broussard’s call, I identified the location and had them disabled.  But the dash cam isn’t good.  Hang on for a moment and let me verify something.”

There was a click as he muted the phone on his end.  I was left watching the TV while I waited.  Julie had turned the volume down when I placed the call and I couldn’t tell if there was any new information.  Several minutes later, Johnson came back on the line.

“OK, here’s the bad news.  The Downey Police use an older dash cam system that records onto a disk housed inside the cruiser.  It requires a direct download to a server when they return to the station at the end of shift.  There’s no way to get to it remotely until that happens.

“The system has the ability for the cops in the field to review the footage that has been recorded.  And they can print a copy of any image that’s on the disk.  Without remote access we have no way of knowing if they’ve identified you and Ms. Broussard and are already looking for you.”

“Can’t you call one of your buddies that’s at the scene?  I’m watching a news report and there’s FBI all over the place.  Can’t one of them take care of things?”

“This has already gone too wide, Mr. Whitman,” he said with a sigh.  “Homeland Security, the ATF and California State Police are already on scene in addition to FBI.  The NSA and CIA are sticking their noses in behind the scenes.  I can’t shut this down without drawing a lot of attention, and that’s exactly what we are supposed to avoid.”

“Fuck me,” I breathed, looking at Julie.  “So what do we do to help her?”

“How secure are you?”

“Probably fine until our faces make the news.  I paid off the desk clerk to give us a room without registering.  But he’s got a TV sitting right in front of him.  If our images pop up it’ll probably take him about three seconds to start dialing 9-1-1.”

“Room number?”  He asked.

“108.”

“Stay put.  Don’t stick your head out.  I’m going to have an agent come pick you up and move you to a secure location.  I’m texting you his photo right now so you can confirm it’s him when he arrives.”

“Both of us?”  I asked.

“Yes, Mr. Whitman.  Both of you.”

There was a gentle beep in my ear and I took the handset away from my face long enough to confirm I’d just received a photo.

“You’re sure I can trust this guy?”  I asked.

“He’s one of the project’s team on the ground,” he said.  “Yes.  He can be trusted.  Ten minutes and he’ll be knocking on your door.  We’ll take this up when you get back.”

“Hold on,” I said, pausing until I was sure he hadn’t already hung up.  “What are you going to do with Julie?”

“She will be protected, Mr. Whitman.”

With that, there was a click and he was gone.  I lowered the handset and opened the photo, staring at the face long enough to ensure I’d instantly recognize if it was someone else that knocked on the door.

“FBI is picking us up,” I said, storing the phone in my pack.  “Moving us to a safer location while this all shakes out.”

Julie nodded and tried to light another cigarette.  Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn’t hold the flame steady, so I reached out and took the matches.  I held one for her, absently slipping the pack into my pocket when the smoke was lit.

It was only eight minutes later when there was a soft knock.  Looking through the peephole, I instantly recognized the face of the man from the photo Johnson had sent me.  Opening the door, I stepped back to let him come in, but he stayed where he was.

“Ready?”  He asked.

I nodded and extended my arm towards Julie, inviting her to go first.  She dropped her cigarette in the water cup and stood, moving past me and through the door.  The agent had stepped back and I followed, bumping into Julie’s back when she suddenly looked to her left and came to an abrupt stop.

Instantly, we were swarmed by large men in dark clothing.  Before I could put up any resistance, a Taser was pressed against my back, every muscle in my body going into a painful knot.  I heard another one clicking, a grunt of pain from Julie as she, too, was shocked. 

Strong hands grabbed my arms, preventing me from falling to the sidewalk.  There was a pinch on the side of my neck and almost immediately the world began to spin.  Darkness rapidly closed in as I lost consciousness.

29

I woke up with a splitting headache and a tongue that felt about four sizes too large for my mouth.  Dehydration, I realized without even having to think about it.  I’d dealt with it before and my brain recognized the symptoms the same way it would recognize the smell of frying bacon or the taste of an orange.

But, where the hell was I?  The last thing I remembered was… what was it?  I lay there in the darkness, confused for a moment.  Then it all came back.  Killing the terrorists then hiding out with Julie, waiting for the FBI agent to show up.  And being ambushed when he did.

I sat straight up in alarm, putting my hands down on a soft surface.  A bed?  What the hell?  Looking around, I could see nothing other than perfect darkness.  There were some faint background sounds that were familiar, as was the taste of the air gently blowing from an unseen vent. 

Reaching up, I found the light switch exactly where I expected it to be.  Even before I turned it on, I knew I was in bed in my cramped quarters aboard the Project Athena oil rig. 

Lights on, I saw two bottles of water on my small table and stood to retrieve them.  I was wobbly at first, my legs not wanting to cooperate with the commands my head was issuing, but they finally got with the program and I walked five feet across the steel floor.

I drained the first bottle without pausing, opening the second and drinking half of it in another long gulp.  Quickly, I began feeling better and the stabbing pain behind my eyes receded until it was only a faint, dull ache.  With clarity, came anger.  Boiling up from my gut until I was ready to throttle someone, and that someone was Agent Johnson.

Glancing down, I saw that I was still dressed in the same clothes.  My shoes had been removed and neatly tucked under the edge of the bed.  The wallet I’d been given was missing.  I assumed they’d taken it back.  All that was in my pockets was Julie’s matches.  I stared at them, surprised I’d been able to bring something forward through time with me until I remembered the conversation with Dr. Anholts.

While I was thinking about this, a muted knock came from the steel hatch that served as a door.  It was only two steps away, and I spun the wheel to release the latch and yanked it open.

Agent Johnson stood there, looking immaculate in a pin striped suit that had to have been custom made.  He held a large mug of coffee in his right hand, the FBI seal boldly emblazoned on the white ceramic.

“I should kick your fucking ass,” I seethed, seriously considering attacking him.

“That would be a futile effort as well as counter productive,” he said calmly, stepping across the threshold and into my room without waiting to be invited.

He moved across the small space, turned my lone chair around to face the bed and sat with his free hand folded in his lap.  Meeting my eyes, he gestured at the bed, telling me to take a seat.  I slammed the steel door and angrily spun the wheel to secure it.

“What the fuck was that all about?”  I asked as I sat down.  “There was no need for that.”

“We needed control of the situation, Mr. Whitman,” he said, taking a sip from the mug.  “We needed both you and Ms. Broussard safely tucked away until things calmed down and could be managed by cooler heads.  My agents had no idea if you were still armed, and with my approval they took no chances with their, or your, safety.”