Sorry I have not updated in a while. Spring Football has started and we burn the midnight oil.
"If you don't stop it with the harmonica, I will shove it where the sun don't shine," Calleigh threatened. Ryan promptly removed the instrument from his lips.
"Why haven't they cut through already?" Natalia asked.
"The FBI has given orders for us and everyone in the building to remain in custody," Horatio said.
"Can they do that?" Erick asked.
"The FBI didn't issue the order. The President did."
"The President?" Natalia said.
"The gun that Calleigh logged into the system turned out to be a lead in a major terrorist operation," Haratio said
"What could have someone done to deserve this?" Calleigh asked.
"A-hem," a man stood in the doorway. He looked about fifty, with the hard, deepset eyes of a heavy drinker and more gray hair than black, "Special Agent Patriks, Office of Naval Intelligence."
"And how did you do all of this?" Eric asked, gesturing at the still closed off walls.
"Some sort of hacker-thing that my computer geeks came up with," he said. His voice sounded gavelly, "That gun you logged in was stolen from a Navy compound."
"The Navy does all this for one gun?" Calleigh asked. Even she wouldn't go through this much trouble if one of her guns were stolen. Well, maybe.
"It's not the gun, it's the guy who stole the gun."
Horatio made the immediate leap, "Micheal Peirce," he said.
"Former Delta and DEVGRU operator, worked for the DIA and later ONI," Patriks said, "A rogue spy-slash-operator. He was on a special mission in an unspecified city on an unspecified continent, and his handler was found dead. A few days later, makes contact to be picked up. No-show. A task force was formed to find him, even if it was just to confirm he was dead. I was chosen to lead it as I know him personally. A few weeks ago, he was found and captured at the Hellbourne Industries debacle."
"We know the story," Horatio said, "It was on the news for a while."
"What you don't know is that we managed to link the CEO, Robert Claypool, to the assassination of a Navy Admiral that was in charge of procurement," Patriks said, "And what was never revealed was that the shoot-out at Hellbourne wasn't between federal agents and his private security. It was a three-way battle, between the security, the agents, and Peirce. There was also an unknown party that managed to get away from the complex with Claypool in tow. We eventually found Claypool in a storage unit in downtown DC. Peirce, as you know, was captured, and held by Naval authorities before they identified him. He escaped and 'interrogated' Claypool. We showed up literally five minutes after he left. We lost track of him after that."
"Why so much effort being put into finding a single former SEAL?" Eric asked.
"It's not who he is, it's what he knows," Patriks said, "He knows NOC lists, procedures, safe house locations, cache's, operations. It makes for a scary thought if someone has bought him. It's even scarier if he's doing this freelance."
"So this task force's job just went from MIA to capture?" Eric said.
"Yep. Doubled it's size in as little as three days. We started searching for him, and more importantly, what he's after," Patriks said, "And the gun you logged in, that was stolen during his escape from the Navy Yard in DC. And the Agent he stole it from wants it back. Where did you find it, by the way?"
"In a car in Miami Springs," Calleigh said, "Anonymous tip."
"Is it recorded?" Patriks asked.
"Should be."
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Yes, I just saw a suspicious man hide a gun under the front seat of his car."
"That's him," Patriks identified, "How long ago was this taken?"
"Umm, about nine hours ago," the lab tech said.
"Was it traced?"
"No. Address was given, there was no need to do so."
"Was it logged?"
"Yeah."
"I'll have one of my guys trace it," Patriks turned to Horatio, "Do you have the guy in custody?"
"Yes," Horatio said calmly.
"Can I get in on the interrogation?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Horatio smiled. He liked this agent.
"Mr Reece," Patriks said, "I am Agent Patriks, this is Lieutenant Caine. We understand that a gun was found in your rental."
"I have no idea how it got there," the man said, "I don't even own a gun."
"Or a house," Patriks said, "Mailbox is on the Hudson River in New York..." he manuevered around into the suspect's blind spot, "No credit history, other than a few recently issued company cards, and..." with a singular movement, Patriks grabbed Reece's arm and slammed it down, palm up, "Those calluses? They come from shooting 500 rounds a day, which no civvie would ever do."
"I want a lawyer," Reece demanded.
"Mr Reece," Horatio said, "The gun fund in your car was stolen by a known terrorist. Until we find a connection between you two, we have to assume the worst."
"Which means, that under the Patriot act, you do not have the right to an attorney, you do not have the right to remain silent," Patriks quipped, "Meaning, that until I get every piece of information out of you, I get to... get every piece of information out of you."
It is going to be a long day for you, Mr Reece, Horatio thought.
Trev
My eyes were beginning to droop again when Lyn put a steaming cup of coffee under my nose. I immediately perked up a bit, "Thanks."
"What'd you find?" she asked, pulling the cup away before I could take it. I was dimly aware of her in a light blue tank top, red silk boy shorts, and an open robe. But, I was too tired to care.
"That green spot is an organelle that releases Gleratonine," I said, "It's weird, since Gleratonine is already found naturally in the body. I mean, everyone has it. The kidneys recognize it as domestic and don't even filter it out at high levels. It's harmless."
"What's it do?" she asked.
"It's a peptide that signals the release of specific enzymes in the body," I said, "Most have to do with the breakdown of foreign substances. Please, I really need that coffee."
"Answer the question," she said, looking amused.
"Also can release enzymes that..." and that's when my tired brain nabbed the answer that was just on the tip of my tongue, "That protect against specific poisons in the body, particularly of Benzodithiopentotholazide family, of which Px is one!"
"So the bring in a poison and the cure with them?" Lyn asked.
"No, it's not being used as a poison," I said, "It's what was used to wipe your mind. The bacteria was meant to be injected into the subject, then the bacteria would then begin to make Gleratonine. The Gleratonine would then release the enzymes needed for the subject to survive continuous injections of Px!"
"Which increased learning curve of the subjects," Lyn continued.
"It explains how you learned 20 languages in 6 months," I said. I tried, and succeeded in surpressing a yawn.
Lyn was not fooled, "I swear, I should just put you into bed," pause, "Wait, that came out wrong."
"Ya think?" I said, "Guest bedroom is this way?" what kind of hotel room has a guest bedroom?
I was barely awake long enough to get my boots off, and then I nodded off to sleep.
Fallujah, Iraq, 2004...
We were sent in to mark buildings for airstrikes and coordinate artillery. After the Marines were sent in, we were to withdraw and be on a bowstring for quick response. In reality, we would be in the city for the duration of the battle.
I was, like last time, in Task Force 4116, a joint US-British-Iraqi counter-insurgency special mission unit. I was the youngest guy on the Force. The other members of my squad was Winnie, a Brit of the SBS and the team leader, Mark, of the Air Force's 24th Special Tactics, was the CC, Combat Controller, and Fingers, of the Navy EOD. I was brought along, as usual, as a translator.
My language skills were not needed in our current predicament.
"Mark, watch my six," I said calmly, even though my heart was hammering. I went up to the door smashed it in with my shoulder, turning right as I did so. Mark went left. Winnie brought up the middle, with Fingers bringing in rear security.
It was clear. Winnie ordered, "Boyo, your upstairs," I was already climbing.
No insurgents in the roof. We were made our way east, moving from flat roof to flat roof, following the sound of gunfire. A platoon of Iraqi soldiers had been ambushed. Rather than fight their way to the rear, as they should have done, they chose the path of least resistance, which lead to the heart of Hajji country. I hoped the Green Berets were happy.
When we got there, the insurgents had surrounded the Iraqi platoon, which was holed up in what passed for a convenience store. They at least had set up fields of fire, but their accuracy leaved much to be desired. The seemed to believe if Allah wanted them to kill someone, then he would guide their bullets.
I didn't know how we were to rescue them. But we were the closest team in the area and it would be bad for the moral of the fledgling Iraqi Intervention Force if a platoon was wiped out.
"Awaiting orders," I said.
"Covery fire, distract them, then run like hell and, God help us, they chase," Winnie said.
Great. I got a bead on an insurgent, squeezed. Dead insurgent. Bead. Squeeze. Dead. Bead. Squeeze. Dead.
After the first three. Someone noticed that someone was attacking them from behind. He turned around and looked confused. And then I shot him in the chest. And his buddy saw and started firing in our general direction.
What happened later was a twelve hour fighting retreat back to the front lines. The Iraqis believed that the enemy was retreating and gave chase.
Fingers died when an IIF soldier saw him and shot him. For once, his aim was dead on.
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