Effective immediately, p.2
Effective Immediately, page 2
part #3 of The Agency Files Series
Despite knowing it was a useless order, Keith tried to silence her. “Shh.” When Monica didn’t stop whimpering and screeching at each scrape and scratch, he tried again. “Shhh!” It sounded more like a growl, but again, it didn’t stop her. “Be quiet! Not a sound!”
“Like they can’t hear you yelling at me to shut up!” she wailed.
A shot whizzed through the air and struck the tree nearest Monica’s head. She dropped to the ground and covered her head with her hands. “Why—”
Keith didn’t hear the rest. He hoisted her over his shoulder and thanked the Lord that her obsession with her appearance kept her slightly underweight. He’d trained here—jogged through these same trees—but one afternoon of running and hiding didn’t give him the kind of familiarity he needed to know how to evade their pursuers. A beam swept the forest ahead of him. Footfalls closed in on them from behind. He’d get her killed if he didn’t think fast.
Under brush or in a tree? Which would she most likely be able to control herself with? He could drug and carry, but only for so long. Drugged in a tree would be dangerous. Under brush meant needing to run if necessary. The water might work—if they could cross the road. Could she walk through the water without squealing? Doubt it.
Sounds closing in on them decided it for him. He turned toward a tree with lower branches and ran straight for it. “You’ve got to climb. You can’t talk. You can’t cry, even if you scrape half your leg off. Got it?”
“M’kay.”
“Go!” his hiss sounded like the yell of a football coach in his ears. Surely their pursuers heard.
While she climbed, he felt the ground for rocks. Three would have to do. He stuffed his shirt in his pants and dropped the rocks down the front of his shirt. That’d hold them until he climbed. Three seconds passed—seconds he couldn’t afford—as he tried to decide whether to follow her up the tree or to take the next. If they found her, he might be able to take them out. Then again, if they saw him, they might think she’d climbed another one or maybe was still on the ground, forging ahead. Both options failed to inspire confidence.
He grabbed the first limb and hoisted himself up behind her. “Higher.”
She glanced down, trembled, and pulled herself up one more. “I’m afraid of heights!”
You couldn’t have answered that one question honestly? What is with people? To her credit, they hadn’t finished their own investigation of her. Mark would have found it in time had Dave Sheridan bothered to contact them when his daughter brought him the card. And again I ask, what is with people?
The crashing feet through the underbrush kept him apprised of each pursuer’s location. His stomach twisted. It wouldn’t work. He had to get her out of there. Five—make that six—people crept toward them in a full circle. They’d be cornered in less than a minute. Keith scanned the area, but the dense tree growth and his position in the tree gave him little help.
The first man reached their tree just seconds before the next. Looks like Glocks instead of assault rifles. Organized crime. Using their own goons instead of contract killers? Interesting. That one bad choice meant they had a chance; they’d need to fight for it, and they’d probably give a nice workout to any guardian angels present… That thought made him smile. Erika would want to know if he really believed in such a thing and why. She’d also find his lack of understanding of the theology behind angels charming. Can’t hurt to bring it up next time we go out. Charming is always a good thing.
One man stepped directly under the branch that held and hid Monica. Though he knew she couldn’t see him, Keith stuck his finger to his lips, begging God for her to keep quiet.
She whimpered.
A shot fired—two. Keith aimed his tranq at the man and started to squeeze the trigger, but Monica fell from the tree. Three more rounds fired in rapid succession. Monica didn’t move. He waited, finger on the trigger. Why he thought it would help, Keith couldn’t say.
The man farthest from him called out, “She dead?”
“Yeah…” The shooter kicked Monica before rolling her over. “Yeah, she’s dead.”
“Got the guy with her?”
“He’s probably in one of these other trees or still running.” The shooter stared into the tree, his face darkened by a hoodie but trained on Keith’s spot. He held his breath. “Don’t see ‘im though.”
“Then let’s get out of here before he sees one of us. I’ll call Sheridan.”
Karen forced herself to take slow, steadying breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. Pounding, each beat grew stronger than the last until she felt as if her heart would explode out of her chest. A glance at the iPad told her Mark had already disconnected. She flipped the cover shut, tossed it in the bag at her feet, and reached for her gun. Her hand faltered between tranq and Glock. She preferred the latter, but rules required tranq unless orders came through with permission.
Karen didn’t have approval.
She clenched her teeth as her hand closed over the tranq. She checked it, moving through her internal checklist to ensure it would do the job. “You have to be better than a contract assassin. They have no limitations. You, on the other hand, have a five second delay that could mean a clean shot with a strong, steady shooter.” Mark said it every time they did training exercises.
“—says that Keith just pulled into the—oh, God no!”
Is that a “God, please don’t let this be so” or a use of God that’ll get you one of Keith’s freeze-outs? Man, as a new guy, you’ve got some stuff to learn. Two seconds later, she could have sworn she heard a “Hail Mary” coming from the cockpit. Okay. So not a misuse of God’s name. Fine. You’ll survive for now. Even as her mind wandered through the questions of whether Greg-the-new-guy would create discord with his speech patterns, she demanded, “What’s going on?!”
“Marty says Keith’s car just rammed into a tree.”
“Deliberately?”
Greg muttered something—muttered at a volume that would usually be considered excessive—and nodded. “Looks like. Marty can’t get Mark on the line. He wants to know if he should go down and try—they’re running! He saw Keith pull the girl out before they disappeared into the trees. Anyway,” he added almost without pause, “he wants to know if he should land and try to help.”
Yes. No. No. Three seconds were all she could afford to deliberate. “No! Tell him no. If something happens to him, we can’t get them out. Have him stay close but do not engage. That’s an order.”
Why am I in charge of this op? I should be home taking a bubble bath and watching an inane soap opera masquerading as nighttime drama. This girl’s father did this. I know it. He’s an idiot—or she is. Probably both. Like father like daughter etcetera.
“—said, are we going in or—”
“I don’t know yet,” Karen snapped. “I need to assess the situation.”
“What?”
“I said—”
Greg waved his hand to shush her. “Aw, man!” He glanced back at her. “Looks like we lost the girl.”
Her gut clenched and bile filled her throat. “And Keith?”
The pause told more than Greg’s next words. “No sign of him.”
That’s good, right? If he were dead, they’d be leaving. No sign is good. It means they didn’t find him.
Greg interrupted her thoughts. “Almost there. There’s a car moving toward us—bet it’s one of them. Should we follow?”
Excitement welled up in her. We’ll catch the b—jerks. Yeah. They’re as good as behind bars already. “Not yet. Wait’ll we see another car come this way from the house. Tell Marty to follow any going south on the 33. I’m calling in the Ventura County Sheriff’s office.”
Before she could pull out her phone, the helicopter banked and turned. “Got another one heading up toward Taft. I bet—yeah, Marty says he’s got one going south.”
“That could mean anything from three to twelve there,” she growled. Her heart constricted as she thought of Keith alone—one against half a dozen to a dozen assassins. Alone. He’s alone there. He’s either got a guardian angel with some incredible armor or he’s dead. Her throat constricted in sync with her heart. He shouldn’t have to die. That stupid kid—bet she told a friend what was up—used her cellphone too. Guys probably followed them all the way there— Karen shook her head even as her eyes followed the car below. No. They wouldn’t risk losing him in traffic or whatever. Not following then. How—how’d they find him then?
Their contact with the sheriff’s department answered her text with a promise to send someone to head off the car before it crossed into Kern County. NOTIFYING KERN CO TOO. KEEP UPDATED.
Her muscles grew sore until she began relaxation techniques. Muscle by muscle, she forced each section of her body to relax as she waited for the moment that the cars would be forced to stop. “Let the tension drive you to be more alert—more focused. Don’t let it rule you.”
How many times had Mark said that? Even so, she sat working out her knotted muscles until they saw the tiny specs of red and blue flashing ahead of the cars. “Finally.”
“Marty says—” Greg announced almost the moment they saw the vehicles. “—that the lights disappeared on the car he was following. One minute he had ‘im and the next—gone. Wants permission for spotlight.”
“Do it! Don’t let the guys get away!”
They hovered, trying to see what might be happening below, before Greg turned the ‘copter and headed south. “We can go see if Marty needs help.”
“No,” Karen said. “We’ll go see if Keith is okay.”
“What are his odds?”
She swallowed twice before she found her voice. “Slim.”
The trees around them whistled with the wind that swayed their tops. Cool air nipped at him. Why didn’t I keep my jacket on?
His monocular swung between Monica’s lifeless body on the ground beneath him and a man ten yards away. A light glowed near the man as he pulled out a cellphone. Keith heard nothing, but the order became obvious. Pull out.
Walk toward me. Just walk this way. I want you.
The man turned. Keith debated. He hadn’t seen any signs of anyone else, but if he showed himself now, he’d never stay alive long enough to catch the animals who’d killed an innocent girl. He wanted that closure. He owed her that much.
Just as he decided to risk it and take down the sentinel, a helicopter neared. He’d be able to reach the man unheard, but someone could reach him unheard as well. He couldn’t help her dead. Frustrated, he stayed put and prayed.
The helicopter hovered before veering off toward Ojai. In pursuit. Karen. Lord, please let it be Karen. Please help the Ventura County Sheriffs capture these creeps. I’d like to get my hands on Sheridan before the police get to him, though. Just for a minute. One little slug would suffice. Animal.
Minutes dragged past until he thought he’d go insane. Three. Four. Four and a half. He counted down the seconds. –twenty eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six…A twig cracked. Keith held his breath and then released as a coyote crept closer. Good enough for me.
Keith scrambled down several branches before he dropped. The animal ran. A wasted movement, he checked Monica’s pulse. Nothing. Blood soaked the leaves, the pine needles, the dirt around him. Her eyes stared back at him—the terror still frozen in them.
He dropped to the ground, pulled her head in his lap, and held her.
The plane touched down with a jolt that Keith should have noticed. He didn’t—or rather, he realized later that it had been a rough landing. But in the moment, he sat unmoving even as his fellow passengers squealed or grumbled at the jarring of their brains, possessions, and leftover drinks. Instead, he sat glowering.
As the plane taxied to the gate, he unbuckled. The kid in the next seat poked him. “The sign’s still on. You’re not apposed to unbuckle until the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt light.” When Keith didn’t respond, the boy poked him again. “The lady said so.”
Keith glanced down at the boy and nodded—only half aware of what the kid said. The moment the plane slowed to an almost complete stop, he grabbed his backpack and bolted down the aisle. Three rows from the cabin door, people filled it as the fasten seat belt light dimmed. Slow reflexes today. Probably what got Monica killed. You are through, Auger. Through. That kid probably never knew Jesus, and now does she have the chance? No. And it’s your fault. Slow reflexes.
A carry-on hit him in the shoulder. He didn’t move. “Sorry,” a young girl—just about Monica’s age—said as she wrestled with the retractable handle and jerked it into position.
“No worries.”
“I always over pack. So stupid of me. Anyway, thanks for not chewing me out.” The queue of eighteen waiting passengers moved forward one. “People get so grumpy on these things. I don’t know why.”
Let’s see. Cramped quarters, too hot, too cold, no respect for personal space or the need to be left alone—no clue why people get grumpy. “They’re usually just anxious to get where they’re going.”
“But, like, you have to take the ride, so why not enjoy it? Why don’t more people live in the moment?”
Because they’re not as enlightened as you. They’re flawed people who don’t have the benefit of your superior youthful knowledge. “It’s hard to do, I guess—responsibilities weighing on you or you’re going to your mother’s deathbed. That can make it hard for folks.”
“Yeah. That’s why I do what I do.” She flashed him a smile that should have sold mouthwash or the benefits of orthodontia. “Leukemia survivor—three years.”
Way to prove you’re a failure and a jerk. What do you say to someone after they tell you that? Congratulations? Hope you stay death-warrant free? The moment those words hit his consciousness, Keith’s conscience slapped him upside the head. “I’m really glad to hear it. I’ll be praying for you.”
She glowed—positively glowed as she turned in the aisle to face him. A gap formed between her and the person in front of her, but Keith forced himself not to mention it. “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “I just know it’s the prayers of people like you that got me through all the months of chemo and radiation.” She flipped her hair with a flourish. “And I got some great hair out of it. I don’t know why, but it came in all thick and curly when it was fine and flat before. It’s awesome.”
“What would be awesome,” a man behind them growled, “is if you’d move along. We want to get off of this thing sometime today.”
He started to protest—to point out that the twenty-four inches separating them from the next person wouldn’t make a bit of difference—but again, his conscience stopped him. You were that man half a minute ago. So, in an attempt at balance, Keith smiled. “I guess not everyone appreciates that much margin in their lives, eh,” he whispered as she inched forward.
The girl’s laughter filled the front of the plane. “You get it. You totally, like get it. I love it. I’m Kaylee, by the way.”
“Keith.”
“How sweet,” the disgruntled passenger behind them sneered. “Keith and Kaylee are bonding, while the rest of us want to bolt—and vomit.”
This time, Keith couldn’t take any more. He turned and allowed himself to stand straight, pulling his shoulders back in a deliberate move to flex his muscles. “Do you have to be unpleasant while we all wait? She’s a happy kid who’s grateful to be alive. You might try it sometime.”
A few people behind them let out a cheer that silenced the man’s protest mid-sentence. Keith ignored it all and asked about Kaylee’s trip to Rockland. The conversation couldn’t have been more different from his fateful ride with Monica if he’d orchestrated it. Aside from hair color, Kaylee, Monica, and his cousin Claire were all about the same build, but only Monica’s darker hair kept the three of them from looking like sisters. If only I’d been able to get through to Monica—to find a way to remind her that she’s not alone. If only—
“—told my mom that I’m just grateful I have Jesus. I can’t imagine going through it all without Him. I think if I wasn’t a Christian, I’d want to die fast—car accident or drive-by shooting. Anything that took me fast. With Jesus, the dying part isn’t as bad as you expect it to be. That’s kind of cool.” The man behind them must have made some kind of rude face because she giggled. “In a warped sort of way.”
“Warped is right.”
They stepped forward another three feet as two more passengers exited the plane. Keith asked how long she planned to stay, ignoring the comments from the peanut—he remembered the mini snack packages that the flight attendants had handed out and amended that thought—pretzel gallery. “If you have a chance, I really recommend doing the Night Festival on Saturday. It’s pretty amazing.”
“Thanks! I will. My grandma has bunco that night, so I’m free to do whatever I want.”
As they shuffled several feet forward—moving in a continuous slow crawl now—he deliberated before shoving his hand in his pocket and retrieving his wallet. Keith fished out a business card—plain blue with only his name and cell number on it—and passed it to her. “If you’d like to go with my cousin and me—and maybe a friend of mine—just call. We’ll meet you there or pick you up—either way.”
“Thanks! Oh, look. We’re out!” Kaylee pulled aside as soon as possible to let the grumpy Gus behind them rush past and called, “Have a great day!”
He gazed down at her for a moment and smiled. “Thanks for the sermon. I needed it today.”
“What sermon? I didn’t get all preachy, did I? How annoying.”
“Not preachy at all, but you “lived a sermon” as one pastor I know puts it. I really needed it.”
Her eyes grew troubled. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?” This time, Keith couldn’t answer. He stood there, gazing out over her head at the congested line of exiting passengers up the jetway. She touched his arm—almost like a child who didn’t want to interrupt and get a scolding. “I’ll pray for you. And maybe things will be better by Saturday.”
