Chapter Four
D.E.A. Building26 Federal Plaza
New York City
Lieutenant James "Jimmy" Pace bypassed the security checkpoint, exchanging a wave with the guards before entering the elevator and pushing the button for the fourth floor. He arrived at his office and, as always, did his best to avoid looking at the portrait of his predecessor, Norman Stansfield.
The revered, heroic Norman Stansfield who lost his life in the line of duty along with his entire squad, except for Jimmy himself who happened to be on vacation at the time. He couldn't resist rolling his eyes. 'If only the top brass had known," he thought idly. 'But then that would've ruined it for me.' He had smoothly slid into place as Stansfield's replacement and had pretty much picked up where Stan had left off. Minus the pill-popping psychosis. Jimmy was just bad and he knew it.
He circled his desk warily, noting that actual paperwork had accumulated during his lunch hour. He cracked his knuckles and took a seat, preparing to process everything to his outbox by the end of the day. Keeping up appearances was such a bother.
A fax caught his eye. From Franklin Hospital Medical Center. Why did he know that name? Oh, yeah, the Italian. Damn, that was...over 5 years ago now. What could be up with him? Maybe he's dead, finally. A quick read of the fax dispelled that idea right away. Not only was he alive and well, he was getting out soon.
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U-Store-All
Hoboken, New Jersey
Mathilda unlocked storage unit 731 and stepped inside, lowering the door behind her. She switched on the light and entered the room, surveying the contents. Over the years she had accumulated quite a collection of weapons – guns and knives mostly, but also an assortment of uncommon weapons as well. Sais, Elektra's weapon of choice in the Daredevil comics, and several bokken, wooden practice swords of various shapes and sizes, excellent for balance and coordination. The throwing stars were her favorite and she was becoming quite proficient with them. Several large round wooden targets lined the room, all scarred and pitted from use.
She had guns as well, of course, but unfortunately, she couldn't use them here because of the noise. A gun range down the road was her practice arena. Long range rifles with scopes, 9 millimeter hand guns, even a little .22 caliber that could be hidden easily. And she was an expert marksman with them all.
Along with the weapons, she had been honing her body as well. Not at a silly health club, but at a hard core gym that catered to boxers as well as those interested in the martial arts and self-defense. She would've preferred to keep her training completely private, but only so much could be learned from books and videos. Hands on training was sometimes a necessary evil.
Luckily, the personnel at Harry's Gym couldn't care less who trained there as long as dues were paid. She even got some good tips from some of the guys who worked out there, as well as the occasional workout partner. If any of them were curious about a young girl concentrating so intensely on throws, punches, and head locks, none of them asked. She had the impression they thought she'd been traumatized in her youth. Well, she had, but not in the way they seemed to think. She let them think what they wanted, it suited her needs.
Weapons were just part of her 'arsenal'. In one corner of the space, she also had a menagerie of wigs and different kinds of clothing. It was amazing how much one's appearance could be altered with just a new hairdo or a change of clothes.
She strolled over to a shelf and picked up a throwing star in each hand, hefting their weight and aiming at targets on opposite sides of the room. With a flick of her wrists, the stars flew straight and true hitting the center circles. She pulled them loose and placed them back on the shelf, then picked up what she had come for to begin with – a Beretta M92 handgun. Her favorite firearm. She slipped it into her tote bag and headed out the door, locking it behind her. Time for target practice, wouldn't do to get rusty.
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Franklin Hospital Medical Center
Valley Stream, New York
Amelia parked in the visitors section of Franklin and entered through the front door. It was strange to be here during daylight hours, everything had a different feel to it. And there were so many people. She passed through the waiting room and approached the front desk, introducing herself.
"Yep," the receptionist responded, checking the calendar schedule in front of her. "Mrs. Pelton is expecting you. I'll buzz you in." Amelia waited for the tone and pushed through the door marked 'Private' behind the desk, tossing a thanks over her shoulder. Mrs. Diane Pelton sat behind a large antique mahogany desk, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She had a habit of pushing them back up about every 2 minutes. She stood now at Amelia's entrance and held out her hand.
"Amelia, how nice to see you." Amelia smiled and shook the proffered hand.
"Thank you, Diane. How have you been?" Diane Pelton had once been a lowly R.N. working the night shift opposite of Amelia and Delia's. When the previous administrator had retired, the position had been offered to Diane. She was a rare blend of political saavy and in the trenches experience.
"I'm well. Please have a seat." Amelia did so. "What can I do for you?"
"You remember John Doe #206318?" Diane grinned.
"Burns and a bullet to the back of the head. About 6 years ago. I recall you had a soft spot for him."
"Still do," Amelia admitted. "His progress had been remarkable and exponential. He's improved more over the last 6 months than the year and a half before that. He's outpacing any exercises and tasks we give him." Amelia steeled herself for the next statement. "I think he may be ready to leave us." Diane gave her a sympathetic smile.
"I'll get the ball rolling then. You know how long red tape can take." Amelia nodded, not trusting herself to speak, afraid she'd burst into tears.