Chapter 11: Danger Zone
Bullpen, Hoover Building
Monday, 17 January 2005
2 p.m.
"I don't like it." Dimitrius leaned against Myles' desk and crossed his arms across his chest. "There's no way for backup to get anywhere close, and there's too many places for things to get screwed up."
"I know," the blond agent replied, "but we don't really have a choice. If I start making waves now, just before we meet the leader of this little band of misfits, they'll get suspicious and we'll lose all the headway we've made. We'll be fine."
"Spoken like the fearless warriors I've come to know and love." Howie Fines waltzed into the Bullpen like he was Robert Mueller himself. "So, buddies, we ready to take down the bad guys and free our fair city of unsavory characters?"
Myles stopped the hand that was about to land on his shoulder with a glare. "We are ready; you are late."
"Things to do, people to see," Howie replied easily. "Just making sure no one's wise to our little sting operation."
Including you, Myles almost said, then decided not to. Sarcasm was completely lost on the snitch, so it wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he sat forward in his chair and indicated the blueprint on his desk. "This is the warehouse where we'll be meeting Kyle tonight. According to him, the 'big boss' will be there as well. We're supposed to pick up our first 'inventory' for Tara-slash-Ruby, and set up a schedule for the rest of it. As soon as we make the trade, Jack and the others come in and clean up. Simple and painless."
D chuckled. "The last time you said 'simple and painless,' you ended up purchasing yourself for $1200."
Howie was intent on the building layout and missed the quip. "Wow, this place is huge. There's like about two hundred places for someone to lay in wait for an ambush."
"'Lay in wait'?" Myles regretted the comment the moment it passed his lips.
"Yeah, lay in wait. You know, hide, conceal yourself, hole up, lie low—" Howie stopped abruptly as Myles glared at him again. "What? You're not the only one who ever read Shakespeare. Hey, do I get a badge this time?"
"No!" The two agents said it in unison.
"You know, you all are getting really good at the stereo yelling. Sounded like one voice this time. Fine, no badge."
"I'll get you a badge," Myles muttered under his breath. "With the word IDIOT across it in big red letters."
"You guys are so funny. Makes me feel like a part of the team when you razz me just like you do Bobby."
Myles glanced up at D, who was trying not to laugh, and signed a phrase. He moved his right "U" hand back and forth along the extended fingers of his left hand, also in a "U" shape. He then held an open "5" hand up close to his face and moved it away from his head while closing his fingers together. Then he circled his right "S" hand over his chest.
"Levi, my man!" Howie turned as Sue walked in with the Golden Retriever, and stepped away from the two agents to greet the big dog.
D looked at Myles. "'Train go sorry'? What's that?"
The taller agent laughed. "It's a Deaf idiom Elizabeth taught me the other night. Translates roughly to the English 'missed the boat,' or 'over the head.'"
"That's Howie, all right. Let's gather the troops and get this laid out."
&
By 8 pm, they were set up and as ready as they were going to get. Surveillance cameras were set up in adjacent buildings, aimed through the windows that ringed the top portion of the warehouse. It wasn't close enough for lip-reading, but it would at least give them a basic idea of what was happening.
"Are you sure they won't pick that up?" Howie eyed the thin gold chain Myles had around his neck, complete with St. Christopher medal that concealed a wire. "I mean, it'd be a shame to lose it. Gives you a very hip look."
"They won't pick it up, because it's not activated right now. And thank you so much for the fashion review." The tall agent glowered at him. "Tara will turn it on after they've searched us. You just worry about looking properly subordinate, and leave the rest to us." He nodded toward Dimitrius, who was hiding a grin behind his turned-up coat collar. "We should be in and out of here in less than twenty minutes, if everything goes as we expect."
"Yeah, well, it's the unexpected stuff that makes me nervous," Howie said softly as they entered the warehouse.
The space was well-used; high industrial shelf units soared nearly to the ceiling, casting long shadows in the dim light; if anyone was waiting for them for purposes other than the meeting, they'd never see it coming until it was too late. As the two agents and the snitch approached an open area, Kyle stepped out from behind one of the shelf units.
He glanced at his watch. "Timely. Good trait. Stop right there, please, gentlemen. Arms out to your sides, if you would."
As they halted, Kyle motioned two of his associates out of the shadows. None of them could have been over twenty-five, Myles noticed, and the one approaching D couldn't have been more than eighteen. Electronic wands were used to check for listening devices and cameras, then the young men stepped back.
Myles moved over to lean against a metal table, running a hand through his hair before settling with his hands in his pockets. It was a pre-arranged signal, and he felt the slightest static jolt as the wire in his medal activated. "So, Kyle; where's this genius you work for? He decide we weren't worth his time?"
The young man smiled. "Oh, you're very much worth his time, Myles. Just not quite how you expected." He snapped his fingers.
It was like being hit by a pallet dropped off a merchant ship; suddenly people dropped from the tops of the shelf units and within seconds, Howie and the two agents were senseless on the ground.
Kyle walked over to Myles and ripped the St. Christopher medal off his neck. He ground it into the cement floor with the heel of his boot. "Take him," he ordered his cohorts. "Leave the other two." He tossed the medal onto D's prone form.
"Nice try, Feds," he sneered. "Too bad it's going to cost you plenty. Simmons don't take kindly to moles. And if I ever find that sweet little jeweler again, I'll make sure she dies happy. Old saying still applies: Never trust anyone over 30."
&
In the surveillance van, Tara watched in shock. "Jack! It's a trap! Operators down!"
She heard Jack give the order to move in, and silently cursed the luck that had forced the teams to be farther away than usual. Beside her, she heard Sue gasp as Kyle and the others hauled Myles over to a grey van waiting in the loading area of the warehouse. The doors slammed shut, and the van took off, right through the steel rollup door.
"Grey van, headed north on M Street!" Bobby's voice rang over the radio. "License number Echo Tango Charlie one-five-one!"
"They've got Myles in it!" Tara cried.
Suddenly, a second van crashed through another loading door, followed by a third. They were identical to the first one. Bobby stared in shock from the SUV— the license numbers were identical as well. He took off, noting that two other teams were already in motion as well. "SAM 3-2, we are in pursuit. Suspects heading north on M. Keep your eyes on them; all the plates are the same. If we lose sight of them, we'll never be able to track them down. SAM 3-3 is in the lead vehicle."
But suddenly the van that had been in the middle position shot forward, passing the lead vehicle. Thankful that traffic was light, Bobby watched in dismay nevertheless as the three vans began a "shell game" maneuver; within twenty seconds, he could no longer tell which van held his colleague and which two were decoys.
"Bobby! Report!" Jack's voice sounded in his ear.
"SAM 3-2; they've pulled a bloody bait-and-switch on us, Jack!" His heart dropped as he watched the vans turn off in three different directions. "SAM 4-1, take the van on 15th, SAM 4-6 the one on 14th. I have the lead vehicle."
The next ten minutes seemed like an eternity as they wove through DC streets, the van showing little regard for the many "One Way" signs. At last, the Aussie's team managed to corner it as it crashed through a chain-link fence surrounding a car lot. Several new Lexus sedans paid a high price for being on the perimeter of the lot.
Bobby shot out of the SUV, sidearm drawn and rasied. "FBI! Step out of the vehicle now with your hands on your head!"
A young man of no more than eighteen got out of the van, an eerily smug grin on his face. The Aussie spun him around and shoved him up against the van, just as one of the other members of his team came around the back of the vehicle.
"It's empty, Bobby."
"Bloody h—" He cut the curse off mid-way. "SAM 3-2: we do not have him. He's in one of the other vans."
Jack wanted to punch one of the cartons lining the shelf units at the warehouse; D was sitting up, rubbing at the back of his head, and Howie was still out cold. "SAM 4-1, report."
"SAM 4-1: we have the second van. It's empty, too."
The dark-haired agent ran a hand through his hair. "SAM 4-6: you have the vehicle holding SAM 3-3. Report."
There was silence on the radio for a moment. Jack slapped his hand on the shelf unit. "SAM 4-6, report!"
"SAM 4-6..." Frustration sounded out loud and clear in the agent's voice. "We lost them. We've got a four car pile-up here. Better get Emergency Services moving. Repeat; we lost them."
At the warehouse, four sets of eyes met in dismay. One of their own was missing, and they had no way of knowing which way to turn first to find him.
&
Dillingham Residence, Georgetown
Monday, 8:00 pm
Sam leaned back and stretched, a wide grin crossing his face. "This is gonna be fun. You sure she's not going to think it's corny?"
"I think she's going to love it," Elizabeth replied, jotting down the last of their notes. They'd spent the last two hours planning out a proposal, down to the last detail. "You ready for dessert? There's a praline cheesecake in the fridge."
"Liz, you are an angel. I'll get it." He stood up, working a kink out of his neck as he wandered into the kitchen. His voice echoed back to her. "So what do you suppose our respective secret agents are doing about now?"
"I make it a point to not think about it," she called back. "Saves my stress levels. If there's something I need to worry about, someone will let me know. Hey, do you want just one color of roses, or do you want to make it a variety?"
His lack of response made her look up. "Sam? What'd you do, fall into the cheesecake?" When there was still no reply, she got up and went into the kitchen.
Sam was standing at the kitchen island, his hands braced on the counter and his eyes shut tight. After a moment, he straightened, but his face was still pale. Elizabeth placed a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," he breathed. "Everything just kinda went fuzzy for a—" He trailed off, his eyes focused on the far wall. "Something's wrong…Myles is in trouble."
Her hand tightened on his arm. "What?"
"Serious trouble, Liz…something went wrong. I can feel it – nothing concrete, but just enough to know he's in trouble…"
She led him back into the dining room and sat him down, then took the seat next to him. "Tell me what you felt."
He took a breath. "Well, we've been working on those barriers. The twin-speak is pretty strong again, and we had to do that to protect both of us, because of the nature of his job. But just now... the wall was there, then it wasn't. For a split second, I got this surge of... not exactly fear, but definitely a negative, 'oh, shit' adrenalin rush." He smiled slightly at the raised eyebrow she aimed at him over the colorful metaphor. "Sorry, just relaying the message, which means it was big for him to use it. Now, everything's kind of blank... kinda like when you're on the phone, but the person on the other end got called away for something."
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "So what does that mean? He's unconscious?"
"Be my guess." He crossed his arms and leaned them on the table, resting his head on them. "I really don't like this aspect of being twins. The headache's a killer."
"I can imagine. Stay still for a second." She went to her bathroom and grabbed some ibuprofen for him, her mind racing. They've got it under control; don't go off half-cocked just because Sam has a line in. If something were really wrong...
Oh, please. If you don't call, Sam will. You know that. Better you, than him freaked out; it'll take five seconds to check out.
She walked back to the dining room and pressed the ibuprofen into Sam's hand.
Elizabeth took a breath, weighing what she was about to do. She'd done some consulting for the FBI in the past few months, so she had the clearance rating to do this, but she wasn't sure Jack Hudson would appreciate it. Or Ted Garrett, for that matter. Then she picked up her cell phone and dialed a number.
"Manning."
"Bobby, it's Liz. Before you say anything else, just listen for two seconds. Sam's here, and he says Myles is in trouble. Is that true?"
There was silence on the line for a second.
"How…?" The Aussie's voice was incredulous. Then he lowered his voice. "How strong is that bond, anyway?"
"Pretty strong; you know that," she replied, a bit puzzled. "Why?"
"Hang on." She heard him call Jack over, then their conversation was muffled as Bobby apparently placed his phone against his shoulder. A minute later, Bobby's voice came back on the line. "Jack says for you two to meet us at the Bullpen. Hurry up."
&
Bullpen, Hoover Building
9:00 pm
"It's not something I can just pull up on command, Jack!" Sam's voice had an exasperated edge to it. "As far as I can tell, he's still out cold, wherever he is."
The last thirty minutes had been filled with even more frustration. Jack Hudson didn't feel especially comfortable around things he didn't understand, and Bobby's wild notion of trying to find Myles through this "twin-speak" was nothing short of desperate, as far as Jack was concerned. The fact that it didn't seem to be getting them anywhere didn't help.
"Tara, anything on the GPS in his cell?"
"It's a brand-new phone, Jack," she replied with a sigh. "He picked it up just before we headed over to the warehouse, and the GPS wasn't activated yet."
"What!"
"Randy said he was at his budget limit for the period, and the new one starts just three days from now. Myles didn't push the issue this time; after all, how often do any of us use the feature?" Tara glanced at Elizabeth, watching to see her friend's reactions. The psychologist was seated at Myles' desk, toying with a pencil and absently staring at his blank computer screen.
Jack made a mental note to strangle the Office Services VP the next chance he got. "So we have nothing," he muttered. "Lovely. The one time he chooses to pick his battle with Randy..." Maybe we need to have that little seminar on "paranoia on the job as work ethic," too, when we get him back here...
"When" was the only outcome Jack would accept.
&
"Let peace begin with us"... how many times am I going to be put to the test on that in a year's time? Elizabeth fought the urge to get involved; consultant or not, she was too emotionally involved, and her expertise wasn't needed in this instance anyway. Best to just sit quietly and stay out of the way.
She could feel the frustration in the room; Jack didn't understand the limitations— or any other part, for that matter— of the bond Sam shared with his brother, and Sam was doing all he could and knew it wasn't enough for any of them. A bureaucratic glitch had made sure the team had no way to find Myles, and the DC area was too big to just start searching randomly.
I made a promise to him. Wherever it leads, I will walk this path. I will allow him to be who he must be. Sam's dilemma with Tara had gotten her thinking about moving the wedding date up; she didn't want to spend any more time just engaged to Myles, could care less about all the frills and nonsense their relatives were debating over. But rushing it would only be giving into her fears for him, for them, and she hadn't spent the last six months overcoming fear just to let it take over her life again.
A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. O-K YOU? Sue was watching her with concerned eyes.
Elizabeth sighed. YES, she replied silently. THINK ME. QUIET THINK BETTER NOT FRUSTRATION ADD.
Sue smiled. YOU ALONE WORRY NOT. CAN'T LOSE MYLES NOW SINCE HIM LEARN PAH. DEAF VICTORY BIG WOW.
It had the intended effect, and the psychologist laughed softly. VICTORY MORE BIG HIM. WORLD NEW OPEN. HIM GOOD.
"All right, folks." Jack's patience was clearly at its limit. "I don't care how we do it, we have to come up with something, because I don't feel like waiting around here for DCPD to phone in about a b—" Glares hit him from all sides, and he put a lid on his thought in a hurry. "Go get on the phones, on the street, chase down every one of your snitches, and see if there's anything floating around about these guys. If this is just a tactic for a 'private' meeting we likely have a good cushion, or he'll contact us as soon as he can. If it's not, then time is of the essence. Move."
&
Monday, 10 p.m.
"Oh, my head… What the...?" Myles put a hand to the back of his head, half-expecting to find it sticky with blood. To his relief, there was only a fair lump, but no broken skin. He sat up slowly, letting his headache adjust to the change in orientation. He felt like he'd just gone 18 holes with Otis Washington— as the golf ball.
What happened? Stupid question, Leland, it's obvious what happened...the more pertinent question is, where am I now? He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The surface beneath him was cool and smooth; a brief swipe of his hand found ridges spaced about a foot apart. Vinyl tile...
The room was very dark, but there was enough moonlight through the cracks in the boards covering the windows to silhouette what looked like desks, student-style. A school... an old one, it would appear... doesn't narrow it down much, but it's something.
He stood, wincing at the pain that lanced through his head once more. A quick check confirmed what he'd expected; his firearm and cell phone were gone, as was his FBI identification. Wonderful. One step from the top, and we get made. I wonder what tipped them off... and where are D and Howie?
For a moment, he thought he felt Sam brush at his mind, and quickly brought the barrier back up; the last thing his twin needed was a front-row seat for whatever was about to transpire. As a general rule, the bad guys weren't too happy about finding an FBI agent in their midst. The only variable was how confident they were of disappearing after removing said agent from their midst. That factor alone would determine how far he could push in formulating a way out.
Right now, he had to find a way out of this room and try to find his colleagues. Stepping carefully in case there was debris on the floor, he made his way over to the door and tested it by pulling on the handle, then pushing. A slight movement and a metallic clank told him the simple handle was barred somehow, tightly enough that he couldn't simply work it out by rattling the door. The window in it was standard tempered glass with a wire screen through it that had been invented for institutional buildings since the beginning of time. It was nearly impossible to break, even with one of the desks.
Suddenly, Kyle's face swung into view, startling Myles. The young man had apparently been standing guard just to the right of the door, out of the sight-line. Three others, heavily armed with semi-automatic rifles, stepped into view as well.
"Welcome back, sleepyhead," Kyle taunted as he swung the door open. "The boss wants to see you. Right now. Let's go."
