Course of action, p.20
Course of Action, page 20
Barton raised his pistol chest height. The weapon never wavered. “There’s a federal warrant for your arrest.”
Fuck!
“Walter Scott,” Angie whispered. “Asshole.”
Noah thought of various scenarios and came up short as Angie drew a sharp breath. “I’m opening the door. Slowly. You’ll get no problems from me over this mistake.”
He stepped out of the Navigator and raised both arms above his head.
“Face the side of the vehicle.”
Noah was quickly frisked. “Do you have any sharp objects in your pockets or on your person that could harm me?”
“No.”
His wallet and coins were placed on the front seat. His right arm was secured with one handcuff, and the left remained free. They wouldn’t fit over the brace. Barton was about to escort him to the cruiser when Noah held back.
“Before we go, may I say a few quick words to my partner?”
Barton paused, then nodded. “Very brief.”
Noah leaned in the driver’s door and whispered for ten seconds. Dickinson was about to say something but simply nodded. Her eyes flashed toward the officer with controlled anger.
“You’ll be fine.” Despite the turmoil, Noah wasn’t going to cause any problems to a man just doing his job.
“Let’s go.” Barton radioed in the call and opened the rear door for Noah. Once he was inside, he secured the other end of the cuff to the handle on the passenger door. “You have the right to remain silent ...”
After his rights were read, Noah’s shins were tight against the front seat as the door slammed, locking him in. He watched as Dickinson climbed behind the wheel and closed the driver’s door. She would be fine. Now.
For the first time in his life, he was on the other side of the Plexiglas divider. He laid his head back and wondered who would get to him first? The real FBI, CIA, or someone working for the council? Regardless, the sudden shift in plans would put Dickinson out of harm's way. The anxious feeling lowered once he realized Angie would be safe. Noah knew the farther away she could get, the better.
Chapter 64
Walter Scott unbuckled, raised the starboard window shade, and squinted at the rising sun. At thirty-two thousand feet, the crisp blue skies were a sight to behold, no matter how many times he’d seen it. On occasion, the cloud cover cleared, and the dark Atlantic Ocean would appear.
The London security chief briefing had been cut short. He received information that Miriam Davis accepted the transfer and was back in the CIA. Walter should have known better, and he had fallen victim to the most dangerous opponent known to man. Complacency.
It wasn’t the first time the council had been split or a grab for power been thwarted, and it wouldn’t be the last. However, it was the first time someone had come back from the dead and taken a promotion. Fucking bitch had more tricks up her sleeve than a magician. After four and a half decades of playing the game, Walter knew he would be just as difficult to take down—if not impossible. Safeguards had been in place for many years, and he would see any attempts coming long before it happened.
The arrangements for Miriam’s replacement on the council had been narrowed down to a select few, and by all reports, another opening would soon occur. Dennis would not last much longer. Walter expected to hear of his passing any day now. The opportunity to stack the council with two more loyal to him boded well. He wasn’t about to give up the first chair. It was a position earned over the years, and he had grown accustomed to being the puppet master. Controlling the strings behind the scene suited him perfectly.
“Mr. Scott, you have a phone call.” A young man, Jeremy, in a navy blazer, stood from the rear seating of the jet. He passed a secure satellite phone to his boss.
Walter nodded and held out his hand.
“Go ahead.”
“I hope you’re sitting down.” Cameron sounded excited.
“I am. What’s going on?”
“Noah Hunter has been apprehended. He was caught speeding, of all things, and was arrested with the federal warrant.”
Walter chuckled. “About time that thorn in our side was pulled. Do we have someone nearby to handle it?” He glanced out the window when the Gulfstream shook with minor turbulence. The fastened seatbelt chime sounded, and he ignored it.
“I’ll adjust the paperwork to transfer Hunter to the Seattle holding facility. From there, he’ll be taken care of within a day. A carton of smokes goes a long way, and shit happens.”
“At this point, I don’t care if it looks like an accident or not. Just get it done. I’m on my way home so that we can deal with the second chair.” Walter couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “She has nine lives.”
“I thought I was going to be second?” Sean couldn’t keep the near-whine out of his voice, setting Walter’s teeth on edge.
“You are. I have to make her retirement more permanent. In Miriam’s new position, she will be overseas within a month. Flights get lost all the time.” Walter couldn’t help but glance around at his current mode of transportation, and the desire to knock on wood was strong. However, only his notes were sitting on top of the briefcase next to him. It would have to do.
“I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.” Walter disconnected the call, his mind already turning to arrange the need for Miriam to take the flight. He would also have to cancel the contract on Noah Hunter, and then he had to arrange a meeting with a rising star at the bureau. Walter had no idea how the country ran without him at the helm.
Chapter 65
As they drove through the small town of Smithfield, North Carolina, Noah studied the streets and buildings. The sinking feeling in his stomach wouldn’t settle, and he couldn’t help but recall what his commander in the infantry used to say. You can plan for an operation all you want, but unknown factors can force change—learn to adapt and overcome. His right arm shifted, and the links on the handcuffs rattled. Noah wasn’t sure how he could adjust the new circumstances to his advantage, if at all.
Traffic in town was almost non-existent at one o’clock in the morning. Barton drove north through a residential section and turned left on East Market Street. The area was a mix of farmland and tracks of forest, with homes or businesses scattered. They entered the downtown core after passing an industrial set of buildings on the left and going under an overpass. Small businesses and restaurants lined the main road, and Noah saw a large sign for an Aqua Center. They turned south after passing Tucker Furniture and then right into the police station’s rear parking lot.
The building was a long, single-story structure that reminded Noah of the Richmond Hill PD, and he was glad the carnage wouldn’t be following him to this small town. Too many lives had been lost.
He tried to move the fingers in his left hand, and the thumb and index finger could now touch but not press together. The swelling was gone, but he was far from being fully functional.
Barton drove in a loop so the passenger side was beside the back door to the station where another officer waited. Once the door opened, Noah was escorted inside for processing.
“I guess you’re going to be familiar with what will happen next.” Barton brought Noah into a small four by four-foot room and had him stand facing the wall. The second officer stood outside.
“Yes, but not from this perspective.”
Noah went through a secondary search, including inside his shoes, underwear, and genitals, and his hair was examined. “I’m going to remove the splint to exam it properly.”
“Go ahead.”
It didn’t take Barton long, and he left it off for the moment. “After, I need to take pictures of any injuries.”
Noah was led into the main processing area, where his mugshots were taken and then he was fingerprinted. The days of rolling a person’s fingers in an ink pad, then paper were over. Noah’s hands were cleaned with an alcohol swab, then once dried, were placed on a scanner. The left hand was difficult to put in position, but once the screen chimed, he gingerly lowered it. The palm and fingerprints were good and saved.
“Okay, before I put the splint back on, I need to record your other injuries.”
Noah pulled the T-shirt over his head. “Hope you have lots of film.”
The bruising from being bounced off a moving truck had blossomed into an array of yellow and green swaths across his back. A dozen wounds where gravel had embedded in his shoulder blades had healed without infection, but the mass of scabs made Barton wince.
“Did you get the name of the bus that hit you?” The camera clicked as several pictures were taken. When a person was brought into custody, any prior injuries were recorded. If not, they could state that they were subject to police brutality and the injuries were sustained after arrest. It forestalled any legal actions and the CYA procedure—cover your ass.
“Close. It was a truck. I was trying to apprehend a suspect after he killed two cops in Richmond Hill.” Noah winced as he slid his arms overhead and back into the clothing.
Barton lowered the camera and turned Noah about in the small room. “Were you under a truck, by any chance?”
Noah tried to read the officer’s face, but it was like stone—no expression. Slowly he nodded. “Yes. How do you know?”
“Were you also at the Richmond Hill Police Station?” Barton ignored Noah’s question and asked another.
He wasn’t sure where this was going but nodded.
“Stay here a moment.”
Barton escorted him back to the small room, closed the door, and whispered to his partner outside. Confused, Noah looked around and spotted a small camera with a solid red light in the corner of the ceiling. Other than that, the room was empty.
Five minutes passed, and when the door opened, a tall man stood outside in a dress shirt and tie. Captain bars were on his collar, near the points, and he was clean-shaven with short thinning hair.
“Captain Matt Pike. Step outside and raise your arms out to the sides.”
His pale green eyes were piercing and followed Noah’s every move. A thick belt was wrapped around his waist, with a single link out front. Prisoners wore them for transportation, and a chain usually went through the link to connect the ankles and wrists.
Once it was locked at the small of his back, the single handcuff was closed in front. Noah nodded. It was the best solution to secure a one-armed man. With a broken wrist, they had to minimize any risks.
“Follow me.” Pike led the way deeper into the station. Two rows of standard government-issued desks lined the room, with a single large wooden desk at the end. A metal chair was arranged before the wooden desk, and Noah sat. Barton stood behind his shoulder.
Half a dozen officers were working, but when Noah passed, they grew silent, and eyes followed. The feeling of unease grew with everyone watching. Noah had booked hundreds of people for almost two decades. Never had he brought someone to see the shift captain.
Pike sat down at the desk, punched away on the keyboard, and clicked a few times with the mouse before turning the monitor to face Noah.
It took a few seconds before he could figure out what it was. Someone’s hand shook initially, but it stabilized once it was pressed against the glass window. The video zoomed across the parking lot and lingered on the police car for a few moments before tilting the angle to include the pickup truck. A man climbed in the back with a shotgun while a figure crouched low in front of the grill. As the man walked forward and onto the cab, the man in front slipped underneath. When the truck drove away, the woman filming gasped. The man beneath had clung to the underside carriage of the truck as it took off down the road.
Captain Pike then clicked the mouse a few times, and it went to an interview outside the police station, where an off-duty police officer had killed an armed assailant. The reporter was behind the barricade tape, but she identified the man sitting on the back of the ambulance as the off-duty officer who took down a rampant killer. The camera zoomed in on Noah Hunter, wrapped in a wool blanket, staring at nothing on the ground.
The woman faced the camera, and Pike turned on the audio. “It is times like this where an unspoken hero stands up to evil and triumphs. Without his courage, many more could have died.”
Noah didn’t look up when the officers behind him stood and began to clap. I wasn’t a hero. I was scared shitless and did something that needed to be done.
“Detective Noah Hunter, I think it’s time we talked.” Pike leaned forward on the desk when Noah looked up. The captain had a sparkle in his eyes.
Despite the situation, he felt a flicker of hope.
Chapter 66
While Noah remained secured, Captain Pike escorted him to the staff lunchroom. The coffee pot could have been a relic from the 1940s—battered and stained, but the coffee was hot. Barton poured him a mug before they sat. If Noah leaned forward, there was enough play in the cuffs to take a sip.
“I had a chance to run a background check on you. Why is there a federal warrant for such a decorated officer?” Pike grabbed a coffee for himself and sat at the pale, yellow-chipped table.
Noah looked over his shoulder. The large officer waited outside the room. It was just Barton and Pike. No cameras or recording equipment.
“I’m not going to bother with the usual ‘this is off the case’ opening, but I would appreciate what I’m about to say goes no further.”
He didn’t turn around, but Pike’s eyes flicked up to Barton and then back before a slight nod. “No promises. It all depends on how much my bullshit detector registers.”
“Fair enough.” Noah took another sip of his coffee before beginning. “My first major case happened eighteen years ago. A little girl was kidnapped but never found. Recently, a document was sent to the station. It had the missing girl’s fingerprints recorded but as an adult. Angela Taylor was alive after all this time. I reopened the case, and that’s when the problems started.”
Barton shifted behind him, and Pike could have been carved from stone—there was zero expression on his face as he listened.
Noah told how he was ordered off the case by the mayor’s office and subsequent findings. “Angela’s parents were sleeper agents, and their daughter was kidnapped to force them to comply with CIA demands.”
“I thought the CIA didn’t have any jurisdiction within the states.” Pike’s brow furrowed, and a finger tapped the tabletop.
“This all started seventy years ago. The president made a mistake, and this is what happened.” Noah knew this would be a hard pill to swallow, but he didn’t hold anything back. It took almost thirty minutes for him to finish, and the coffee was long since cold.
The captain leaned back in the metal chair and shook his head. “I don’t doubt you believe everything, but I’m lacking one thing.”
“Proof.” Noah turned to Barton. “I’ll give you a phone number for verification.” The officer pulled out a notepad and wrote down the eleven-digit number before leaving. Dennis had arranged through his secretary to have any calls from Noah forwarded through to him, no matter the time of day.
“Even if what you said is true, there’s the matter of the federal arrest warrant. I can’t legally let you go. Even if it were issued in error, it would be for the courts to decide.” Pike shrugged and looked at his watch. “Your arrest has gone through the system, and the FBI has been notified. However, there are certain things I can do to ensure there’s a level playing field. If you are up for it.”
When you are cast adrift in the ocean, any lifeline is welcome. “I don’t want anyone having issues or troubles on my account. But I’ll gladly accept.”
AMANDA TAYLOR AWOKE as the sun rose, angled down the steps into the cellar, and warmed her face. The door to the basement was directly opposite the dining room window, and for fifteen minutes each morning, the sun would shine down the old wooden steps. Her right eye wouldn’t open, but her left took in the beam of light and the dust motes suspended in the air, and she smiled.
I’m alive.
Despite that declaration, her body didn’t feel like she should be alive—enough ribs were cracked that breathing was painful. When Amanda tried to move, shooting pain from her left leg narrowed her vision to a small pinpoint of light and threatened to send her unconscious. Ligaments were torn, and bones had broken in her lower leg.
Amanda had been driven and focused on achieving her goals—from martial arts to schooling throughout her life. If one door were closed, she would open another even if she had to kick it down. Her left leg wasn’t responding well, but her right was fine.
When she sat up and leaned back against the post, the broken links of the handcuffs rattled. She had been beaten hard enough that the cuffs had broken. But she was now free.
As she ground her teeth together, a few were loose, and a molar was missing altogether. While keeping her weight on the right leg, Amanda ignored everything to crawl up the stairs. The pounding headache made the world spin as she froze.
A noise from the kitchen was subtle, but it carried down the hall—a muffled thump.
There was no chance of running or putting up a fight in her condition. When Amanda crawled forward, the noises were coming from a door next to where the stove would have been. A pantry. After brushing away a pile of broken plates and garbage, she opened the door, expecting the worse.
“Brian?”
A figure lay bundled with a sack over his head. Lengths of a thin green cord were coiled about the large figure, from shoulders to his ankles.
“Give me a second. Stop moving.”
Amanda dragged herself alongside him and focused on loosening the knots at his feet, then wrists. Amanda pulled the hood off his head with the last bit of reserve energy and removed the gag.
Brian’s eyes watered with relief, but she didn’t notice. A black wave of unconsciousness dragged her back down into its embrace.
