Bringer of Fire (18 page)

I couldn’t help but grin.

“May I come in, Bringer?” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied, stepping aside for her to enter.

She paused, as if considering the bed, but then moved to a chair situated before a small courtesy desk across the room.

“Want some Gatorade?” I asked, taking note of the bucket of ice and half dozen plastic containers of sports drinks on the dresser.

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I see they took my request seriously,” she said with an arched brow.

I casually grabbed one of the containers and poured the contents over a glass of ice.

“I thought you might finally be trying to get some sleep,” I said.

“I would’ve liked that,” she agreed somewhat forlornly. “However, I just got off the phone with Agent Denton back at our office. We’ve got a small problem.”

That didn’t sound good.

“What kind of problem?” I asked, perching on the edge of the bed.

“It seems that our exploits on the streets of Chicago were captured by a pedestrian with a cell phone camera,” she began. “Which, in turn, made its way onto both the Internet and blogs. Naturally, the news media picked it up, and it’s playing on major news networks.”

I was generally a pro-media kind of guy, but these were particularly sensitive circumstances.

“Fortunately, there’s a lot of conjecture as to whether the video was real or merely doctored up with some video editing software to perpetrate a hoax,” she said.

“Okay. That sounds more encouraging,” I said cautiously.

“So far, the bureau is maintaining a ‘no comment’ approach for the time being; although Denton said he had to discreetly report the facts to some bureau brass higher up the chain. In turn, a report made its way to both the CIA and the NSA,” Sanders continued. “And suffice to say, there’s some people who really want to meet you when we get back to Nevis Corners.”

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Yeah, real shit,” she solemnly agreed.

And to think that, just a few minutes ago, I’d felt like things had been ballooning out of control. Now, it seemed that we’d just transferred from a balloon to a rocket.

“What do we do?” I asked.

Sanders sighed. “I don’t see that we have a lot of options right now. But I can’t help feeling that containment of information about you is about to become a lot harder.”

“And with people who aren’t necessarily as concerned about my wellbeing,” I added acidly.

I’d run across some CIA operatives back in the Middle East and they weren’t necessarily the straightforward types. In fact, they operated in a lot of gray areas that most Americans had no clue about.

One thing for sure, I knew I didn’t want to get mixed up with them.

“We’ll catch a flight back first thing this morning. And don’t worry, Bringer, we’re not going to hang you out to dry,” she tried to reassure me.

I stared into her eyes and noted a determined look of sincerity. Sanders was definitely the
real deal
; somebody guided by her conviction and a genuine desire to help and protect people.

However, she didn’t know certain clandestine divisions within our government like I did, and she had no idea of the kind of nefarious influence they wielded. They might be closer to what we’d been facing with the mysterious Continuance Corporation thus far; except these guys wrapped themselves in an American flag when they found it convenient to further their cause.

“Bringer?” Sanders asked.

“Yeah, I heard you,” I said. “Thanks, Sanders. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

She rose from her chair, walked over to me, and placed the cool palm of her hand against the side of my face as I looked into her eyes.

“You’re pretty amazing, Captain JFM. And I owe you more than I could ever repay,” she softly affirmed.

I reached up to cover her hand with my own and replied, “My pleasure.”

Then she gently withdrew her hand.

“Try to get some sleep,” she urged as she opened the door to leave. “I’ll give you a wake-up call around six-ish.”

Yeah, as if I was going to be able to sleep now.

* * *

I must’ve fallen asleep while lying on the bed contemplating my situation because the alarm on my cell phone startled me awake. I shaved and got dressed just before Agent Sanders knocked on my door.

She briefed me on the loose ends we’d be leaving behind. Then I asked her to give me my vitamin injection before we checked out.

Once again, I thought of Maria.

As I left the room with overnight bag in hand, I stopped and looked down the hallway to where two police officers were stationed outside Maria’s room.

“Just a minute,” I told Sanders, dropping my bag onto the floor.

I lightly knocked on Maria’s door and waited. Granted, it was still pretty early, but I just had to see her before I left.

“Just a minute,” I heard her voice.

She must’ve paused to look through the peephole because I heard the series of locks hurriedly clicking before the door flung open.

Her smile was priceless, and she hugged me tightly to her.

“Oh, Logan, thank you, thank you,” she half-cried.

I wrapped my arms around her and swiveled my head to softly kiss her on her bruised cheek.

“I’m so glad that I found you,” I said, leaving the addition of “in time” unsaid.

The truth was, finding her alive made everything that I’d endured seem so worth it. Though after seeing how she had been treated, I would’ve liked the opportunity to work that guy over more before I killed him.

“Are we leaving already?” she asked.

“No, Agent Sanders and I have to head back early,” I said. “But you’re leaving later this morning, I’m told. You’ll be back home to your children by lunchtime or so. And this time, you’ll be safe. Sanders assured me the police will be stationed outside your home 24/7.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever truly feel safe again,” she said.

“Now, now. None of that,” I said. “Maria, before I go, I need to know what your captors wanted from you.”

She sighed and pulled from our embrace slightly, looking remarkably composed for a person who’d just endured what she had. Though, in reality, her life had probably been traumatic ever since the Wallace Building explosion.

“They kept asking me about our company’s genetic research and the treatments you’d been taking,” she said. “One time, they even asked what personal information I knew about you. Fortunately, I didn’t have a lot to tell them. I mean, outside of your patient file, that is. And they wanted to know how much progress the treatments had progressed prior to our office’s destruction. In fact, just a few hours before you rescued me, that man wanted to know how far your abilities had progressed.”

My jaw tightened.

“How many people did you see?”

“Just that man,” she replied. “Though I never once heard him say his name. The only name I overheard him say was one time when he was on the phone outside the room I was locked in. It was a woman…he called her Miss Folker, or maybe Volker, I think.”

“Thanks, Maria. That’s really helpful,” I said.

At least it was something more than we had before. I suppose I should’ve tried not to kill that guy with the shotgun, in retrospect. But then, I’ve never been particularly cautious when being down range from someone who’s trying to kill me.

“Bringer, we have to get going,” Sanders prompted.

I’d been oblivious to the fact she was standing next to me. I must’ve been more exhausted than I’d thought.

“I’ll see you soon, Maria,” I said.

She nodded.

“Logan, I can tell you’re getting stronger,” Maria offered.

“Hey, I’m taking my vitamins,” I quipped, and turned to follow Sanders down the hall.

* * *

I managed to call Lexi at the airport terminal while waiting to board our flight home. Fortunately, she, the kids, and my parents were all well. She told me that a police car was stationed outside of our parents’ house where they were staying, and one was always close by when they left the house. At least the FBI had been as good as their word on that.

Lexi had a host of questions for me, but I remained relatively vague; the fact we were talking over an unsecured line being foremost in my mind.

Geez, it was like being back in the military all over again.

Naturally, before I was able to finish my conversation with Lexi, my mother wanted to chat. I’d expected the usual motherly concern that all sons receive from the women who brought them into the world, but this time Mom surprised me with a topic that came out of left field.

“Your father and I aren’t the only ones worried about you, Logan,” Mom said. “One of your old army friends, that nice congressman from New York, Paul Criswell, called to ask how you were.”

Paul Criswell? I hadn’t heard that name in months. For some unknown reason, rather than calling me, he used to call Mom once in a while during my cancer treatment just to check up on me. Every time I’d tried calling him back, he’d always been away from his Capitol Hill office, or I’d gone directly to voicemail.

Paul had been a member of my fire team back in Afghanistan. He’d made sergeant faster than anyone I’d ever seen. Of course, he deserved it. He was one of the best soldiers over there; all business in the field but somebody who had your back whether you liked him or not.

Paul was definitely “good people” and we’d seen eye-to-eye from day one. We’d been tight overseas but had lost touch with each other after we redeployed back home.

No harm there. Frankly, that sort of thing happened a lot more than people thought. It’s just the way that life wrapped you up and swept you onward sometimes.

Of course, life had worked out far better for Paul than most of the guys in my fire team; he was one of only two in my squad who hadn’t either contracted, or died from, cancer since their return to the States. Better yet, he’d been the most successful of all of us, having used his wartime experience to ride a wave of patriotism all the way into office during his first congressional campaign.

Lucky bastard.

“Logan? Are you there?” Mom asked with concern.

“Yeah, sorry, Mom,” I replied. “I was just thinkin’ I hadn’t heard from Paul in quite awhile, that’s all. What did he have to say?”

“It was so nice of him to call,” Mom recounted fondly. “He said he’d been monitoring the recent news reports about the terrible building explosion, and that he was so happy you hadn’t been in the building. He said that he wanted to find out if you were feeling okay.”

That’s strange. Once again, why the hell didn’t he just call me?

“Did you give him my phone number and ask him to give me a call?” I asked.

“Of course. It was the first thing I offered, though I know I’ve given it to him before,” Mom replied. “He thanked me, but said he didn’t want to be a bother with all that you were probably going through right now.”

Then Sanders waved over to me that our flight was boarding, so I had to cut my call with Mom short.

Chapter 14

The flight back to Nevis Corners felt like the shortest in my life, and I was well aware why.

More interest from the feds.

Although it wasn’t until Sanders and I stepped into the FBI office downtown that my nerves turned completely on edge. We were hastily summoned into a large, nearby conference room filled with people wearing impeccable suits.

Everyone rose as soon as Sanders and I walked into the room, and Agent Denton moved to greet us first by shaking hands with both Sanders and me.

“Welcome back, you two,” he said. “Good work down in Las Vegas.”

I turned my attention to the five other strangers in the room and gave them a hard look. To my surprise, they regarded me like I was some kind of new scientific discovery, which unnerved me slightly.

A tall, slim dark-haired woman in a tailored women’s suit stepped forward to shake my hand.

“Mr. Bringer, I’m Yasmine Prichard, Special Agent in Charge of Domestic Affairs at the Central Intelligence Agency,” the woman offered in a practiced manner.

I was surprised that the CIA had developed a domestic affairs division. To my knowledge, they typically dealt with foreign intelligence issues.

A man who appeared to be in his mid-forties and wearing a dark wool suit with red bow tie stepped forward to greet me next.

“Hello, Mr. Bringer,” the man said. “I’m Bob Tevin, Deputy Director of the National Security Agency and Central Security Service.”

Next, a tall man who appeared to be in his late fifties stepped forward to shake my hand. His hawkish-looking features and furrowed eyebrows looked somewhat amusing to me.

“Mr. Bringer, I’m Mark Wainright, Deputy Director from FBI headquarters in Washington, DC,” the man said. “I’ve read a lot about you. Ex-army, eh? Thanks for your service.”

I nodded respectfully, but repressed a sigh. I realized people were being polite and displaying their national pride when they thanked me for my military service.