= = =CHAPTER 3= = =

SEATTLE - FOGLE TOWERS

MAY 5, 2020

10: 35 PM

"I haven't seen or heard from her since 8:00 tonight boo." Cindy's voice was very anxious over the receiver of her black cordless phone. "And I don't mean to sound like no upset housewife but Original Cindy's worried about her girl. She's not one to be up and late comin' home."

"I don't understand how she couldn't be back there already." Logan said in disbelief, not even hiding the concern that had taken command of his normally calm tone. "It's only a half hour drive back to your place."

"I wouldn't be callin' if I understood this shit Logan," Cindy beat Logan out on the panicky voice. She paced around her hovel of an apartment with all the collectiveness of an expectant father. "All I know was my boo was supposed to make back to the crib an hour ago and she's a no show, and that sends my warnin' flags up cause sistah girl is punctual down to the wire."

"Have you tried paging her?" Logan asked.

"Fool I wouldn't be callin' you if I had gotten a hit on Max's pager." Cindy had left concern behind and had moved on to pissed off.

"Calm down." Logan tried to be the voice of reason even though he himself wasn't calm at all. He was doing all he could just to keep a steady, non-alarmed rhythm in his voice. "I'm sure she just got held up in traffic; you know how bad the situation is with the road systems here."

"All I know is somethin' seriously bad went down with my sugah. I feel it like a prick feels up thighs boy. And judging by your B.S. explanation you're pickin' up on my bad vibe too."

Logan didn't say a single word in a drawn out 10 seconds because he had just lost all credibility to his traffic argument.

"I know you're still there; I can here you breathin'" Cindy ended the silence

"I'm not sure exactly what it is you want me to do." Logan told her. He was worried about Max, very worried now that Cindy had called asking about her but he wasn't a magician. He couldn't snap his fingers and find out Max's current location.

"Look – you wanna be International Man of Mystery that's your deal, but if you really care for my home girl the way you say you do you'll find her. Otherwise I'm gonna beat on your ass." Cindy hung up from her end, forgoing any pleasantries or formal good-byes.

Logan stared at his phone after the call ended. He hung it up slowly like it had just bitch slapped him. Cindy's words hung around him like the scent of bad cologne. He knew Max too well to think that something as mundane as the late night traffic stalled her for over an hour in getting home. It was a simple explanation to the problem – but it was too simple. And nothing involving Max was ever that easy or that neat.

Logan reached for his phone again, but then changed his mind and laid it back down in the charger base. Who was he going to call? Detective Sung? Was he going to ask Matt if any beautiful women were seen out on the streets tonight? The Seattle Police Department already had holding cells filled with girls that matched that description, prostitutes mostly. It would take all night for anything to be dug on Max using that simple bit of information. Though none of the prostitutes could hold a candle to Max. She was more then just a pretty face and a killer body. She was something so rare that no words had yet been written that would accurately describe her.

If she had just been beautiful Logan would've lost interest. Valerie had been beautiful, so had Daphne and a dozen other girls he had dated over his lifetime. Pretty faces, but no substance. Women his father and uncle approved off because of their exclusive blue blood breeding. But with Max – she was so fiercely independent that he couldn't help feeling slightly intimidated by her, but also finding her incredibly sexy at the same time. Max constantly claimed that they 'weren't like that'. But she never knew the countless sleepless nights he suffered through and ice cold showers he subjected himself through after every single encounter, every smile from her lips. She was like a full-bodied drink and by the time he realized her affects on him he was too intoxicated to care. But when it came to Max he never wanted to be a sober man.

His hand reached towards the phone again, and this time he placed it to his ear and dialed the number to the Seattle Police Department's 25th Precinct.

"Seattle Police Department. How can I direct your call?" The crisp, bright voice of a blonde receptionist in a navy blue skirt suit came over the line. She had just been hired two weeks ago and even though she spent half of the day at her desk filing her nails she was good at her job.

"This is Logan Cale," Logan introduced himself, pacing around in front of his couch. "I'd like to speak to Detective Sung."

"One moment please," the receptionist covered the bottom end of the phone with her free hand and swiveled around in the worn office chair to a group of cops who were all examining a case report at a single desk. "Detective Sung, there's a Logan Cale on the line for you."

Sung looked up from the incident report on aggravated burglary at the mention of Logan's name. "Thanks Melinda." He said smiling at the receptionist who smiled back and handed him the phone. Melinda left her desk so Sung could have his conversation in relative privacy.

"Logan what's up?" Sung leaned over Melinda's desk as he took the call.

"Matt I need a favor from you." Logan answered the question quickly, wanting to get things moving.

"You know whatever it is I'll do what I can." Sung reassured. Logan was a trusted friend and his calls were usually urgent.

"I'd like you to cross check your dispatch call backs for anything involving a woman on a motorcycle."

"You have to be more specific then that Logan. Women and bikes go together in this city like a teen punk in pervert row at an all night lap dance parlor."

"She's a friend of mine. She left my apartment a little after nine for a thirty minute drive back to her apartment but her roommate told me she never made it home."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but most police calls involving women at night almost always include foul play. Kidnapping and gang rape are the two highest forms of crimes committed in Seattle."

"She's very capable of taking care of herself Matt." Logan interjected, trying to get the words 'gang rape' out of his mind.

"Then my next hunch would be that she's been involved in some kind of accident, possibly driven off the road by some drunk driver."

"You know, you're not exactly putting my mind at ease Detective."

"I'm being realistic here Logan." Sung said factually. "Now I know it's not something you want to ear considering that you and this girl are close, but these kinds of accidents happen every night in this city. Kids go out partying with their buddies and are too drunk to see straight but they chance driving home anyway and wind up side swiping a family SUV packed with children."

Sung paused for a minute, knowing that this was a lot for Logan to take in, and looking for a way to help the man. "I'll cross check all paramedic and EMS response calls in the last three hours okay? But I need a description of so I can match it with anyone who got picked up tonight."

"Her name's Max Guevara, but she usually doesn't give out her last name so she'll just go by Max. She's 5'7 thin, pretty with very long curly brown hair and brown eyes and she was driving a black Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle."

"I'll see what I can find out." Sung said after hearing Logan's description. "From the length you went to describe her she must be pretty important to you so I'll get right on it."

"I appreciate what you're doing." Logan was working equally hard to shake off the effects of Matt's words about his relationship with Max as he was to keep his breathing at an even level.

"You know I'm good for any kind of help Logan." Sung stated.

"I know." Logan agreed quietly. "I just hope your wrong on this one."

"Dispatch this is Unit 35." A female Paramedic dressed in a heavy black uniform coat spoke to Metro Medical in the receiver of her radio. "We're en route with an MVA (Motor Vehicle Accident) Motorcycle vs. automobile. Young woman, looks to be Hispanic, early twenties. Reps are good but she's got a nasty scalp lac that hasn't clotted and a mother of a leg wound."

"Unit 35, were you able to get her name?" The nurse at the other end of the dispatch radio asked.

"Negative. None of the witnesses at the scene knew who she was and she had no ID on her so we had to bring her in as a Jane Doe."

"What's your ETA?"

"15 minutes, we're pulling up to the Uptown Expressway now."

"Hey Hawthorne-" the Paramedic's partner pulled something paper – a laminated Sector Pass – out from the inside of Max's shoe. "Check it out." He held it out for Hawthorne to see.

Linda Hawthorne grabbed a hold of the square object reading the computer generated words printed on it. "Dispatch, scratch the 'Jane Doe' status. Woman's name is Max Guevara."

XXXXXXXX

"Sir!" Agent Sondaval, a balding white man in an ash gray Armani knock off suit pulled the earpiece from his ears and yanked the adapter from the port plug in the silver Sony Vaio computer, turning up the volume.

A shadow cast itself over Sondaval, as the man Sondaval had just addressed as 'Sir' – Colonel Donald Lydecker approached him.

Lydecker, or Deck to all those that knew him and those that feared him stopped directly behind the chair Agent Sondaval was seated at listening to the voices emitting from the gray Altec speakers placed on either side of the computer.

"Can you confirm that Unit 35?"

"Positive. 'Max Guevara. We found it on her Sector Pass."

"Copy that 35. We're awaiting your arrival."

"Where's this being transmitted from?" Deck asked pulling back up to his full intimidating height of 6'1" making Sondaval seem less like a man and more like a kid who had wandered in by mistake.

"An Ambulance just south of Sector Nine checkpoint Sir." Sondaval responded to Lydecker with the air of a soldier to his superior officer. "They picked up the girl in an auto accident."

"Do we know where they're headed?"

"Metro Medical is right over Sector Nine's beginning perimeter Sir; they'll take her there." Sondaval stated his speculation like he had already proven it to be fact.

"I want a unit waiting for that rig when it pulls into the ambulance bay." Deck barked out orders like the Purple Heart decorated Army Colonel that he was. "Tell them to box them in."

"Sir she's traveling with an Paramedic escort. If we converge on the ambulance someone in the hospital is going to know and we risk exposure and possibly not even grabbing her at all."

"What do you propose we do then Agent Sondaval?" Deck growled, glaring at him. "Send her some flowers and wait for her to recover?"

"Sir all I'm saying is we need to approach this from a different angle. We should set up on the hospital and take her out in the middle of the night."

"It's already ten o'clock. Which middle of the night are you referring to?"

"She's been injured." Sondaval reminded, dropping the ass kissing tone for something with more balls in it. "She could bleed out before we even make it back to Manticore." A pause. "Let the doctors fix her as best as they can and we'll initiate the transfer once they've settled her into a room."

Deck was not a happy man after he had heard Sondaval's –in his opinion- POS tactic on brining Max in. Sondaval was a snively cooperate bred weasel. He had never seen combat, never even been in the service. But yet he was assigned to a highly classified military run project. And Deck had no love loss for a man he would have gladly let his kids use as target practice.

"Tell me something Agent Sondaval-" Deck's voice had dropped down to a hushed raspy voice of an Army interrogator trying to mess with his captive's head. "Is it a hard job to purposely find new ways to pull crap out of your ass in order to directly defy my requests?" Deck took a step closer to the other man; his body now assault distance away from Sondaval. "Because it appears to me that you've lost sight of who's running the show." Deck breathed hot dragon fire breath on the skin of Sondaval's pasty white neck.

"I'm only following her orders Sir," Sondaval insisted. "She asked that all captive X5s be in functional condition when they arrive back at Manticore and she wants to be notified when any takedown happens."

"This is still my game. You are not required to follow every goddamn order she slaps in your face." A slow deliberate pause. "We'll recon the hospital to bring in X5-452, but she is not to be notified after it goes down."

"Sir she specifically ordered-"

"I don't give a damn about her orders!" Deck barked in a voice just one level lower then a full shout. He stared down Sondaval the way he use to do new recruits. "452 is my charge and this situation will be handled at my digression." Deck reached behind the back end of his leather jacket and pulled out a black Beretta handgun, cocked it and aimed it at Sondaval's chest. "And if you can't wrap your head around that you'll be summarily dismissed."

Agent Sondaval watched the gun with the universal fear all human beings possessed when a weapon was pointed at them.

"Are there any more concerns you wish to address about this matter Agent Sondaval?" Deck asked glaring down at the agent from the muzzle of his gun.

Sondaval's silence was the exact answer Deck wanted to hear. He released his finger from the trigger and pointed the gun to the concrete floor. "Get a unit ready to deploy in 15 minutes. We're bringing her in alive."