Chapter 3
John Sanderson drained his second cup of coffee, never taking his eyes from the door across the street. The synthetic brew left a sour taste in his mouth and he regretted not buying a glass of water to go with it. The shop could advertise all day long how their new and improved signature blend tasted just as good as the real thing, but that was laughable. Then again, John guessed he was probably the only person in the restaurant who’d tasted real coffee in the last five years. None of the other patrons knew what they were missing.
The screen on the tablet he pretended to read on the table in front of him went dark and he tapped the screen to wake it. He checked his watch again, trying to not allow himself to get anxious. It was taking longer than they’d expected, but there was no need for alarm yet. He’d be home late again, but that usually wasn’t a big deal either. On most days. Sara’s father retired that morning and he knew she’d be a wreck that night. Not that he didn’t feel bad for her, but after a long day in the field he usually found it hard to dredge up sympathy and support when he’d rather just unwind. Ever since they’d lost the baby it seemed like she found an excuse to cry about something just about every day. Tonight it was guaranteed.
Sanderson caught his mind drifting and he looked out the window. Focused on the door across the street. The phone in his hip pocket vibrated and he flipped it open.
“Razorback.”
“Package just left the office,” the voice on the other end of the line reported. “Should be coming out any minute.”
“What did he have?” Sanderson asked. “Anything?”
“Oh, he had plenty. Tier one risk.”
“Understood. I’m on it.” Sanderson hung and up returned the borrowed tablet to the counter. He donned his face mask and headed out the door. “Command,” he said, activating the microphone in the small transmitter/receiver inserted in his ear canal. “Did you get all that?”
“Affirmative, Razorback. Stand by for confirmation and orders.”
Sanderson pretended to study a sign in the store window next door as a group of people walked out of the building across the street. He could see the package reflected in the window. Hands in his pants pockets, head down, walking fast.
Sanderson followed from the other side of the street, increasing his pace to a jog as the package turned the corner out of sight. He should’ve had backup. It was practically rush hour and the sidewalks were filling fast. He allowed a moment of relief when he made the package through the crowd and matched his pace from behind.
“Razorback,” the radio piece in his ear hissed into life. “You have green light. Say again. You have green light.”
“Roger that.”
Sanderson picked up the pace and grew closer to the package. The man he was following had just left the office of one of the last privately owned news outlets in the country. He probably marched in there and spilled his guts to what he thought was a reporter. What he didn’t know was that, instead of a reporter hungry for a scoop, it was just one of Sanderson’s colleagues. He also obviously didn’t realize that even though the paper was privately owned, it was still run by the State and no news left the door uncensored. This man knew something the State didn’t want him to know and all he just accomplished was to confirm what they already suspected. Sanderson didn’t know the details. It wasn’t his concern.
Sanderson removed a small case from his pocket and took out the disc held inside. It was in the shape of a coin - adhesive on one side, a small needle on the other. He made sure it was stuck securely to his palm and removed the protective cover from the needle.
“Scott Hansen,” he muttered to himself. “Scott Hansen. Nicolet.”
Sanderson took a deep breath and broke into a jog. “Scott!” he shouted. “Hey, Scott!”
The package spun around, alarmed at the sound of his name and looking confused. Sanderson trotted up and pretended to catch his breath. Big smile on his face.
“Man, I thought that was you. I spotted you two blocks ago and almost lost you. Didn’t you hear me call out your name before?”
Hansen glanced up and down the street before frowning at Sanderson. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
Sanderson held up his hands. “Oh, come on, Brother. Don’t tell me don’t remember me. Steve Smith?” Sanderson raised his eyebrows. Hansen just stared.
“Nicolet Voc School? Year two English? I sat right behind you for a whole semester, man.”
“Oh.” Hansen took half a step and glanced in the direction he came from. “Right, Steve. Good to see you, Brother. Listen, I’d love to catch up but I’m really late for something.”
“Yeah, no problem. Just wanted to say hey.” Sanderson held out his hand. “Great to see you again.”
“You too.” Hansen shook his hand and made a face. “Ow, what the hell?”
Sanderson gripped harder and smiled. “Really great.”
“What are you doing?” Hansen tried to pull his hand away. “That hurts, what’s the matter with you?”
Sanderson’s pulse quickened as the situation quickly started to take a turn for the unexpected. Hansen should have been on his knees by now. He should have been holding his chest, gasping for breath while Sanderson feigned alarm, begging for help from passers-by as his old school mate had a heart attack.
The poison on the tip of the needle in Sanderson’s hand was powerful enough to kill Hansen in seconds. It would be untraceable in an autopsy. A clean kill. Instead, all it did was prick his skin, obviously a dud and not doing what it was designed to do.
Hansen finally pulled his hand free and stumbled backwards, falling over a trashcan. The handful of pedestrians on the quiet side street kept walking, not wanting to get involved. A few crossed the road to get away from the commotion.
Sanderson held out his hands as Hansen scrambled to his feet. “Hey, take it easy. Just want to talk to you.”
Hansen bolted.
He ran down the sidewalk with Sanderson following. He reached under his shirt and pulled out his service weapon, a Springfield XD-S. It was a subcompact, easy to conceal, and one of the few weapons in that class chambered for a .45. Sanderson gritted his teeth as he hurtled over a trashcan. He was pissed he even needed his gun. Not in the plans.
Sanderson caught a break as Hansen ducked into a narrow alley off the street. He wasn’t too familiar with the area, but most alleys in the city were pretty much the same. Dark and dirty. Filled with trash, debris, and shady characters peddling drugs or sex in the dank shadows. What they didn’t have were an abundance of curious eyewitnesses eager to call the cops.
Scott Hansen tripped over a pile of trash when he risked a glance behind him and tumbled to the damp pavement. Sanderson slowed to a stop and lifted his mask off his face. The plastic face shield wasn’t designed for heavy breathing from running and was too fogged to see properly. He kept his weapon trained on Hansen’s chest.
“Hold on,” Hansen panted. He rolled over onto his back and held up his hands. “Just hol…”
Sanderson leaned forward and fired a single shot from just a foot away. The heavy slug took most of the top of Hansen’s head off.
“Command, package down. Shot fired.” Sanderson said. He tucked the gun back into the waist holster under his shirt and quickly headed back down the alley from where he came.
“Razorback, interrogative. Why did you fire your weapon?”
Sanderson paused mid-step and sighed. The bum was covered in so much filth and surrounded by garbage he practically blended right in and was invisible. Had he not flinched when Sanderson passed, he would have walked right past him. Stupid mistake.
He shot him once in the head and jogged toward the end of the alley. “Command, make that two shots. Witness in the vicinity. I’m exfil, over.”
“Razorback, I say again. Why did you…” Sanderson pulled the radio from his ear and shoved it in his pocket. He reached the entrance to the alley just as a cop pulled up and hopped off his bike. He pulled out his sidearm and ordered Sanderson to freeze. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.
“Don’t move!” the cop shouted.
Sanderson slowly raised his hands. “Officer, I’m a federal agent. I’m going to slowly turn around and reach for my wallet. It’s in my back pocket.”
The cop gripped his weapon harder and took a step forward. He looked young. Probably not even a year out of the academy. Indecision flashed across his face.
“Officer, did you understand what I just said? I’m a federal agent and I’m about to show you my identification.”
The cop nodded. “Slowly. Turn around and take out your wallet. Nice and easy.”
John took out his wallet and flipped it open. The cop’s eyes widened.
“Do you recognize what this is?”
The cop swallowed and nodded.
“Put your weapon away, please.”
The cop looked down at his gun and quickly holstered it.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Briggs.”
“Why are you here, Officer Briggs?”
“I heard a gunshot, then another. I was just down the street on patrol.”
“Did you call it in?”
Briggs shook his head.
“Why not? You should have called it in after you heard the first shot. And assuming it’s not just for show and actually works, I’m looking at a radio handset attached to the shoulder of your uniform.”
Briggs glanced at his handset and then down the alley in the direction of the bodies. “Uh, I don’t know, Brother. Happened so fast, I guess I forgot.”
“Been on the force long, Briggs?”
He let out a nervous laugh and half-smiled. “It’s only my second week.”
“And you’re sure you didn’t call it in?”
“Positive.” He glanced down the alley and back at his bike. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“No thanks. I’ve got it under control.” Sanderson produced his Springfield and shot Briggs twice in the chest. He was out of the alley and on to the deserted sidewalk before the cop’s body hit the pavement.
Sanderson glanced up and down the street. Deserted, now that it was almost dark. A couple walking a few blocks away had their backs to him and rounded the corner. No witnesses. He reached in his pocket and shoved the transmitter back in his ear.
“Command, this is Razorback. Mark my last GPS position and send in a cleanup team ASAP. Scene is hot. One package, two incidentals. I’m exfil, over.”
“Roger that, Razorback. Command out.”
Chapter 4
The video monitor went dark and the woman standing next to it cleared her throat. “Thank you, ladies. We just need you to scan in for the record that you were witnesses and you’re free to leave.”
She produced a small handheld scanner and held it over Sara and Peg’s palms. They slowly stood and shuffled to the door. Peg thanked the woman, not sure why, and regretted it afterward. She replayed the black and white image of Hank on the monitor in her mind again as they walked down the corridor. There was no sound to go with the video so she couldn’t tell what Hank was saying, but he looked terrified. The only word she made out was the final one that passed his lips. Her name.
She bit her lip to stifle the sob trying to escape. There would be time for crying later. She glanced at Sara. Her face was stone, her eyes staring off into nothingness as they walked. Peg took her hand and squeezed it as they reached the front door.
They reached the bus stop and Sara finally snapped out of the daze she was in. “I don’t think I can handle the bus again today. Let’s get a cab.”
Peg glanced down at her purse. “Oh, ah…”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll pay for it.”
“But it’s so expensive.”
“I know, but it’s worth it. I’m not up for sitting here for who knows how long only to cram into that crowded sardine can. I would’ve offered this morning but you know Dad wouldn’t have let me.” The sudden mention of Hank hung in the air. Sara’s eyes fell to the sidewalk.
“Thank you, dear. A cab sounds nice.”
It was still a long wait but they finally flagged down a taxi. As they climbed into the back of the car, the bus still hadn’t pulled up. Late as usual. The ride home was quiet. Neither woman had anything to say and the driver wasn’t interested in conversation either.
They pulled up to Peg’s building and got out of the car. The rare appearance of a taxi in their neighborhood attracted attention and a few homeless approached them. Anybody that could afford a private cab ride surely had some spare change. Homeless people seemed to be everywhere these days but it was the children that bothered Peg the most. So thin and sickly looking. Most of them probably wouldn’t live long enough to see puberty.
Sara handed out a few coins and they went upstairs to Peg’s apartment. Sara went into the bathroom while Peg stood in the kitchen, looking around her tiny apartment. It suddenly seemed foreign, not her home for the past twenty years. Like Hank, she’d tried to prepare herself for this day for months but she realized that was impossible. He was gone and she felt completely lost. She pictured sleeping alone in her double bed and it scared her to death.
Sara came out of the bathroom and Peg forced a smile. “How does a cup of tea sound? I think I have a couple of bags left.”
“Sounds good.”
Peg opened the cupboard above the stove. Instead of reaching for the box of tea, she retrieved a half empty bottle of scotch instead. “Actually, I think I could go for something a little stronger. How about you?”
“Where did you get that?”
Peg studied the label. “We got it as an anniversary gift from your aunt Marlene a couple of years ago. Every once in a while your father and I would have a little on a special occasion.” She set the bottle down and filled two glasses. “Today is…well, I guess you could call it an occasion.”
Sara held up her glass. “To Dad.”
Peg nodded and took a sip. She coughed as the alcohol slid down her throat and burned her chest. “Wow, maybe we should mix this with something else.”
Sara grimaced and laughed after taking her own drink. “Do you have anything else?”
Peg glanced around the kitchen and shrugged. “Nope.” She drained the rest of her glass with one swallow.
Sara’s giggle turned into an all-out belly laugh, only pausing long enough to empty her own glass before slamming it in on the counter. Peg joined in the contagious laughter, each woman feeling guilty for doing so, each woman aware that the fragile lightheartedness could turn into uncontrollable sobbing any second.