I should probably mention here that one of my characters--Kyle Parker--is completely deaf. The little lines around his dialogue indicate he's using American Sign Language. Hope you enjoy the chapter!
"Josh, what's going on?!" Oliver yelled. He instantly regretted his tone the moment he shouted at the man who was like a father figure to him. "I'm…I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "It's just…this isn't like her."
"Expeerience means something, no?" the older man replied gently, realizing his young protégé's concern was more than great. "She 'as pulled 'erself out of such theengs before…"
Oliver slumped into his desk chair, looking out over Postman Ave in the small college town of Campbell, Virginia. "Every day for three weeks, she called in, Josh. Never said where she was, never said what she was up to—and I didn't ask. I knew better. But she doesn't miss a call. And the later it gets, the more worried I am that something's seriously wrong."
"Mais oui," Josh said simply, his thick accent hanging over the tense atmosphere in the loft office like a wet cloud. "You then wish to know what she was doing, yes?"
"Will it blow your case?"
Josh sighed. "Both you and Mr. Parker air qualified. You shall know." The FBI's head of counterterrorism beckoned Oliver back toward the front of his desk, settling in the black leather chair that was starting to crack in places. "Miss Davis was looking eento a threat we received nearly one month ago—a threat to sheep weapons-grade exploseeves eento thees country and use them een a 'demonstration,' as eet was called."
"And you couldn't send Paul?" Oliver asked. "He's more than qualified, Josh…"
"Paul, 'e ees very good, oui," Josh replied, "but 'e ees not so good, eh, 'ow you say, 'blending een?' Then their ees the matter of traceeng the sheepment to eets source and eets buyer. Eet ees thees that concairns us, Oh-lee-vair. You remember what happened the last time…"
"Yeah. I remember." It was something Oliver wasn't about to forget.
"So, I 'ired Miss Davis. Experieence 'as told me she ees quite capable of turning ovair the correct rocks, and she weel catch the pairson or pairsons responsible for thees threat."
"The threat is real, then? Not a wild-goose chase?"
"Oh-lee-vair. 'ave I evair been wrong?"
"Only once." Blue eyes met hazel ones, and the men shared a knowing look.
"Touche. Steel, thees could be 'er finally figuring out where the exploseeves are…"
The two men began to talk more as Kyle continued to pore over his computer. He knew Oliver would tell him if something important came up in the conversation, and there was a part of him that didn't like not doing anything while his friend could potentially still be out there and in trouble. Using a program he'd created, Kyle managed to start scouring many of the national databases and the ones situated in New York City, looking for possible hits on Chase's DNA or her fingerprints. Though Kyle had started the search three hours ago, he continued to run the program over and over hoping that a hit would come up. Suddenly the screen flashed a bright green, and Kyle gave a shout.
--What is it?— Oliver signed, jumping out of his chair and hurrying over to his friend and colleague. –"You find something?"—
--Someone's found something,-- Kyle replied. The tech started looking into the source of the hit and discovered not only a place, but a name. –This guy here, he ran the evidence,-- he said.
--Should I call?—
Kyle reached for his bag. –No. I'm going up there to talk to him in person.—
--Wait,-- Oliver said, putting a hand out to stop him.
--Like hell. This guy, this place? Might be close to finding her. I'm not taking any chances.—
Josh stood up from his seat, watching the younger men hold a silent but heated discussion. "What ees eet?" the older man asked, his voice also tinged with worry.
"Kyle's found something. A lab up in Manhattan started running evidence connected to Chase. He wants to go up there himself, but…"
"Then go we shall." When he got a look from Oliver, the older man countered, "I too am worried about 'er. Like you say, she ees not like thees."
Oliver reached for his coat. "I just hope we're not too late."
-----
"Uh…oh boy," Adam said as his screen began to turn red and shut down altogether. The tech did the first thing that sprang to mind—he raced for Mac's office and hoped the lab supervisor was in there. As Adam rounded the corner, he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the man in question poring over a few stray files.
"Mac," Adam said, gasping for breath. "Mac, I think we've got a problem…"
"Whoa," the older supervisor said, his face now taking in the sight of his technician panting as though he'd run a marathon and more animated than usual. "Slow down. Take a breath." After a second, the man continued. "Now, what's wrong?"
"Uh, I was running those hairs I found at my crime scene," Adam began, his hands gesticulating wildly as he spoke. "Didn't find a match in our database, so I went national, and I got a hit…but then the program shut down and warning bells went off…"
"Warning bells?"
"You know, like when you accidentally set off an alarm?" Adam took another breath, and then said, "Whoever's hair I found at that scene, it was red-flagged."
No sooner did Mac hear this than the man was out of his seat and walking towards the trace lab, his gait at a near gallop. Just as Adam described, the DNA station's monitor was flashing a bright red color and a 'warning' screen had popped up. Below the warning screen, another small window appeared: enter access code.
"See what I mean?" Adam said. "Did…did we find some terrorist or something?"
Mac typed in a few keystrokes, but the screen buzzed angrily at him and again requested a security code. "Whatever's blocking us, it's encrypted," the supervisor realized.
"Um, well, now what?" Adam asked. "I mean, I don't have that kind of clearance…"
"And apparently, I don't either. First thing to do is find out where the encryption is coming from, and then we'll start there. Think you can…?"
"Already on it," Adam replied, settling down in his chair.
----
Chase woke to a hand pulling her onto her back. The pull was rough, as though she were little more than a rag doll that a child had decided to carry at the last minute. Strong fingers pulled the packing tape off of her face, and removed the cloth from her mouth. "You bite me, and you'll be sorry," a voice said—Chase remembered it as the one called 'Mike.'
The woman inhaled a few deep breaths before she tried to speak. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice low but firm.
"Well, you and me, we're gonna have ourselves a chat."
Chase took another breath. "All right," she said.
"What were you doing out there today?" The sounds of a chair being pulled forward grated on her eardrums, but the investigator paid it little mind.
"Business."
"What kind of 'business'?"
Chase wondered just how much to say. "I-I was following someone."
"Yeah. Us."
"No, I swear, I wasn't…"
A slap to her face caused her to cry out. "Don't lie to me," 'Mike' hissed, his thick fingers firmly grasping her chin and tugging on it slightly. "Who hired you?"
Chase shook her head. "I can't say."
"Can't, or won't?"
The woman swallowed thickly. "I can't."
"I should just kill you," the younger man said nonchalantly, as though he was asking about the weather. "Cost me a lot of merchandise, plus you're expensive."
Bright green eyes widened in fear, though Chase worked hard not to let it overcome her. "Look. I don't know who you are, but whatever your 'business' is, I'm not interested, okay?"
"Yeah. You say that now." The chair grated over the floor again, and Chase heard the man get to his feet. "Guarantee though that the second you turn up somewhere, you'll rat us out."
"No, I won't…" The woman's sentence was cut off by a hand that clamped down over her lips.
"You will. Now, until the coast is clear, or you start telling the truth, I've got no choice but to keep you here. Do we understand each other?"
Dumbass! Chase thought angrily. I am telling you the truth!
"Do we understand each other?!"
Worried she might receive another blow, Chase nodded her head. "Good," 'Mike' said, reaching for something on the bed. "Now, you think about what happened here, and in a while we'll try again. I've got all the time in the world, and right now you're just insurance for my little operation, you catch me?"
Oh, great, Chase thought. Means he might or might not kill me at any moment… To appease him, she nodded her head once more to show she understood.
"Good." The investigator could feel the hateful cloth being poised near her lips.
"Come on," she said softly, trying to show submission. "Give a girl a break?"
"So you can start screaming? No, don't think so," the young man spat, roughly shoving the cloth back into Chase's mouth and winding fresh tape around her head. "Not until I get to 'know' you better."
The hell does that mean?! she wondered, her mind racing to a thousand places she didn't want to think about. Chase tried to protest, but the muffled whines and groans rendered her unintelligible as the cloth filtered her words out. Soon the door closed behind her captor, and the woman was once again bathed in complete darkness.
