Dark Vessel (COIL Book 4), page 16
"We'll forward any information we get from Corban, when we find him, but about this opposition . . ." I glanced at Brody, and he nodded me forward. "Do we have license to address what may bar us from moving forward?"
"I thought you might ask this. The senator's words were, and I quote, ‘You may project yourselves with subtlety and caution.' Does that give you the power to do what you must do?"
Again, Brody gave me a nod. Gail offered me a raised eyebrow, which I interpreted as affirmative.
"It does." I rose to my feet and offered my hand. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Chang. Do I have your contact info?"
"Yes, it's all in the envelope." He shook my hand firmly, not sparing when it came to me being a woman. I reciprocated. "Good luck, er, whatever term you Christians like to use."
"God's will." Brody said and shook Rod Chang's hand next. "We say, may God's will be done."
*~*
Chapter 27
I paused outside an unmarked federal building before I entered its metal doors. The place was four stories high and covered an entire block on the outskirts of Lincoln, Nebraska. It was built like a bunker—no windows, all cement, and no welcome mat.
"Chloe."
Brody called my name, but I continued to study the outside of the building, including a row of cottonwood trees with cameras in them, and the parking lot complete with guards. We had unknown enemies, and if they were about to ambush us, I wanted to keep my eyes peeled for the slightest hint before the trap closed. The worst flashed through my mind. What if our enemies were closer than I realized? I felt like I was fighting for Corban blindfolded.
Finally, I turned to Brody and Gail, both in suits, as I was, and both armed with sidearms to play the role of Homeland Security agents. Brody wore aviator sunglasses. Gail's hair was up in a tight, professional bun. Just the right makeup had turned her from Gail Benjamin, recognizable actress, to Gail Forest, complete with crooked nose and bulky cheekbones. I wore no disguise since I'd be acting as myself as lead agent and under the most scrutiny.
"Just in and out," I breathed to Brody who held the door for me. "We get Luigi and then we get Corban. Right?"
"Right." Brody's stone face was reassuring.
Inside, I led the way, a single file in my hand, with Brody behind me, and Gail following.
"Agent Azmaveth." I held up my identification to a camera until a crash-door clicked and buzzed.
Through this door, we approached a tall counter with two uniformed personnel behind it, and two armed guards against the wall on my left, all men. I picked out the superior present, a squinty man behind the desk, and stopped before him.
"Homeland Security. We're here for a prisoner. Transfer of custody. Someone should be expecting us."
"Which prisoner?" Squinty asked. He wore no nametag.
"Luigi Putelli." I studied his face. He didn't move—not to check a clipboard or his computer screen at his elbow. "You have a lot of Homeland Security prisoner transfers arranged from Washington today or something?"
The question was a statement meant for him to respond according to protocol. Now they knew that any stalling would be considered deliberate, and heads would roll. Though I'd never worked within the US bureaucracy machine, Israel had her own inter-agency conflicts.
"What's the Homeland Security want with that piece of garbage?" Squinty glanced at his desk partner and chuckled. "A dozen other folks have come in here, too—all for him. Some didn't even speak English."
"He's nothin' but trouble, lady," the other said. He had a Southern accent. "The news keeps sayin'—"
"My name is Agent Azmaveth, not lady or missus!" I stated louder than necessary. "I don't care about the news. I don't care about your opinion of the prisoner, politics, or your grandmother's potted plants. We're here for a dangerous criminal who will answer for his crimes. Other agencies can wait in line. We're Homeland Security. Now, the prisoner, Luigi Putelli."
Squinty seemed to chew on the inside of his cheek. If he was considering a smart response, he chose against it, and turned to his computer. When checked, my name would show up as my true identity—an ex-IDF soldier, regular infantry. But there would be other credentials attached to it, if Senator Nettleton's office had considered the angles. After all, they wanted information from Luigi as well.
"The prisoner's not ready." Squinty didn't look at me, only sighed at his computer screen. "Says here he won't be ready for some time."
"I'm here at the exact time you were told to expect me!" I slammed my flat palm down on his desk, making him jump. "Why isn't my prisoner ready? If my prisoner is harmed, I'm holding you responsible! Take me to him now!"
"Visitors aren't allowed beyond that door." Squinty's sidekick nodded at another crash-door. "All prisoners are brought—"
"Do I look like a visitor?" I looked back at Brody, then my eyes drifted to the two armed guards. He didn't need to move closer to the sentries in order to cover them. Brody had two ceramic wrist rockets that fired a tranquilizer each, a non-lethal mechanism that had gotten him through customs gates and bad company alike. "I'm fully aware of the danger my prisoner is in. The accusations—unproven, I should add—are from terrorism to serial murder. But he's an object of national security and property of Homeland Security as of oh-seven hundred this morning. Either you bring the prisoner to me, or we go to the prisoner—now!"
"Lady, you're not going to push—"
"Agent Azmaveth!"
"Whatever. We're not on your timetable."
"I see." I backed away from the desk. These weren't government professionals; they were military grunts with a grudge against their own system. The next access door required a code. At that very moment, Luigi could be "accidentally" hanging himself, the officers hoping to spare the nation a drawn-out, shameful trial. Or, they were interrogating Luigi without due process, in some dark corner of the basement, hoping to get some horrible secret from him before anyone else did. Maybe even for pay. "Please, give me a moment."
With a signal to Brody to stay in the room, I exited the building alone and stepped into the sunlit afternoon. In thirty seconds, Rod Chang was on the line.
"Ran into roadblocks," I said. "They won't give me Luigi Putelli."
"Right away or ever?" he asked.
"They're stalling and I don't like it." I took a deep breath. "Mr. Chang, I don't like being bullied. Who exactly am I facing here?"
"Nobodies. Independent government contractors who handle certain detention facilities for us, even outside the States. These people are of no consequence. And they have no authority to tell actual agents to relax or take it easy. You're acting for Homeland Security, Ms. Azmaveth. Nobody says no to H-S. Push your weight around—assertively. Don't forget what's at stake for you. You want Corban Dowler, and we want General Forglade. Putelli may lead to both."
"But you told us to use subtlety and caution."
"That was part of my official instruction as the senator's spokesman."
"Okay, what's your unofficial instruction?"
"I sent those orders for Luigi Putelli myself, with the senatorial seal and signature. They have the bearing of the Oval Office. You've asked nicely, now it's time to not be so nice. Or whatever the Christian equivalent may be. Understand?"
"You understand I'm about to force their hand for our guy? Even Christians can be forceful."
"Well, that's what I'd do. Good luck, er, God's will be done."
*~*
Chapter 28
When I marched back into the detention facility, I felt like a mother about to swat a few unruly boys on the playground. If the children couldn't play nice, they wouldn't play at all!
I nodded at Brody, then jutted my chin at the two armed guards. In that moment, I knew all the rumors I'd heard about Brody were true. He was built for conflict—short and powerful, and there was no doubt he'd do his part. When he turned toward the guards, I didn't concern myself further with his responsibilities since I had two men of my own to deal with. Though I approached the elevated desk briskly, my leap onto their counter was surprising and abrupt.
As I leaped, the toes of my right foot triggered a short, stout needle that sprang into place at the end of my boot toe. The needle hadn't been used for months, but I'd recently applied falaco tranquilizer to its length. My leg swept across the desk and jabbed hard into the shoulder of Squinty's partner.
Squinty leaped to his feet as I forced my presence upon him in his booth. I would've tranquilized him as well, but we needed him conscious. Instead, as he reached for his sidearm, I grabbed his hand on his gun, and jabbed with the heel of my other hand into his solar plexus. He wore no vest under his uniform, so my blow took his breath away. As he struggled to breathe, he sank to his knees, and I took his sidearm.
Before Squinty could recover, I accepted a pair of handcuffs from Gail—who'd taken the cuffs from the belt of the other man, now sleeping in a tranquilized state behind the desk. Only then did I look up to see that Brody was reloading his wrist rocket barrels, secured up his sleeves. His two armed guards were unconscious and cuffed as well.
"Please tell me this doesn't make us fugitives," Gail said to me quietly. As she was the least physical of the three of us, I was thankful she'd remained out of our way during the assault. "If we're attacking the good guys . . ."
"I called our man in New York. We're good." That was all I was willing to say in front of Squinty. With the heel of my left boot, I folded the right boot needle back into the toe. If needed, my left boot needle could be implemented from its heel. Both tiny weapons could be used a dozen times before the falaco toxin became too diminutive to plague a target's bloodstream. "Now, let's see what this guy can do for us."
Brody dragged Squinty out of the booth onto the cold floor and turned him over to lie on his belly. I was about to convince Squinty my own way, but Brody had been doing this much longer than me.
In front of Squinty's face on the floor, Brody placed his identification. He took a handful of Squinty's hair so the man couldn't turn his head to the left or the right.
"Tell me what you see there." Brody was calm, not furious, which seemed to terrify the bound man even more. Instead of struggling, he whimpered, as Brody continued. "That's a Homeland Security identification. It says I'm Agent Brody Sladrick and I have the entire executive muscle behind me, so you're going to cooperate with this national security prisoner transfer. If you don't cooperate, I'll not have you reassigned to a facility in Alaska. I'll have you imprisoned in an underground chamber in Poland so deep you'll forget what sunlight feels like. You'll be termed a traitor, an unknown in the cog of the incarcerated. Only God Almighty will remember that—"
"Okay! Okay, I get it. What do you want? I'm sorry, okay?"
"What's the code for the door?"
Though I was impressed with Brody's effectiveness, I was equally impressed by the partnership he had with Gail. Gail was already waiting at the door, ready to punch in the code, as if she'd never doubted Brody's ability to extract it.
"It's, um, four-nine-two-six, then hit enter. Please, I'm sorry! I didn't realize who you guys were! I mean, I saw your—"
Nudging Squinty with my toe needle, I put him to sleep. Gail had already opened the inner access door and swung it outward on thick, steel hinges. We moved through together.
Closing the door behind us, we acknowledged that everything was electronically monitored in this place. And we couldn't leave a door open for an easy exit without lighting up someone's control panel.
Before us spanned a circular set of tiers, six deep, subterranean. The four stories above ground were crisscrossed with walkways and Plexiglas administration offices. The circular shape from top to bottom had the feel of the inside of an imagined flying saucer. A suffocating presence stole my breath for a moment as I studied the huge interior; there was only one way in or out of the whole building!
"Gail, stay here." Brody's order jarred my senses back to the present. "Chloe, you go up to get a cell number. I'll go down to fetch Luigi as soon as you gain access."
"On it," I said, and started up the ramp to the offices. I was more than happy to take orders from a more experienced agent, who was older than I was as well. Though he wasn't pushy, he was a man who gave even Corban advice on COIL operations, and Corban didn't listen to many people on how to run the Christian spy agency.
Personnel, in the same uniforms as the men in the entrance wore, noticed me approaching their nest-like offices. Below me, I saw Brody was about to face a number of guards on the circular catwalk. Fortunately, none of these on the inside appeared to be armed with firearms, since they all dealt so closely with dangerous criminals.
"Acquisition orders for prisoner Luigi Putelli," I stated as I approached the first official. "It's a priority order. Custody transfer."
"Everybody has priority." The first speaker was a mustached man with big forearms almost as thick as his legs. He crossed those arms and blocked my way up the catwalk. "How'd you get in? We just spoke to the front and told them that prisoner isn't ready . . . indefinitely. And you can't bring firearms in here!"
"Yeah, we get it. You want to oppose releasing a prisoner to anyone you think will treat him in a way less than you think he should be treated. But your thinking is irrelevant. I'm H-S Agent Azmaveth. H-S, as in Homeland Security. As a formality, I brought a copy for you, but I'm not obligated to give it to you. Should you further impede this explicit order, I'm obligated by the United States government to incapacitate you by any means necessary."
I adjusted my blazer so Mr. Forearms could better see my sidearm—merely a prop for me. Below, I heard Brody already in a scuffle with someone on the catwalk. As soon as Forearms leaned over to look, I took a step forward and got loud.
"Hey! Pay attention! Don't look down there! I'm speaking to you! Where's Luigi Putelli? Now!" My fiercest gaze seemed to hold his attention now. I figured a play out of Brody's own book would finish the job. "The next step is to lock down this whole facility. I'll do it for a week. Nobody in or out. We'll investigate every inch of everyone's lives here to sort out where this insubordinate attitude toward the US government originates. Who do you think signs your paycheck? Keep stalling. See what happens. Just see what kind of hole you find yourself in that you won't get out of without a presidential signature, and I'll advise the president myself not to sign anything with your name on it!"
Like a mother counting to ten for a spoiled child, I held up my wrist to silently count the seconds on my watch. I prayed his shifting feet meant he was getting the picture. If I had to call Rod Chang again, who knew how badly H-S would really drop the hammer!
"Cell four-oh-two," he stated.
"Is he hurt?" I dropped my arm to my side and covered my sidearm with my blazer. "There was no detail in his file."
"Well, he may have received a few bruises. The CIA dropped him off in less than satisfactory condition."
"Bruises, we can handle. Broken bones, and we start breaking careers. Get it?" I moved to the railing, but watching my back should Forearms attack. "Agent Sladrick! Cell four-oh-two!"
"Roger that!" he yelled back. "Okay, I'm there! Tell them to pop it! I have restraints in hand!"
"Open four-oh-two!" Forearms hollered toward the ceiling where a booth was suspended from the rafters, a single catwalk leading to it.
Only then did I notice how many uniformed men and women were above us, witnessing our exchange. The command was passed one more time, and the secure booth, with bars on its windows, seemed to be the focal point of attention.
"Got him!" Brody called.
"So, what're you gonna do with him?" Forearms asked. "I'm just following orders, too, you know. All of this. That's what I've been told to do."
"In one way or another, every wicked deed of every person will be judged." With a cold smile, I nodded at him. "There should be both joy and fear in that fact for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Looking down, I checked Brody and Luigi's progress up the circular tiers. They were directly below me, their shoes loud on the metal grating.
"The Book of Acts, chapter seventeen, verse thirty-one, should make it clear enough for you. Have a nice day."
I wasn't about to linger with these people who'd already been inhospitable. After backing away two steps, I turned and walked quickly toward the catwalk intersection where Brody escorted a cuffed Luigi in front of me onto the walk. Luigi glanced back at me, and I felt a grave illness deep in my gut for two reasons. First, he'd been beaten recently, some of the wounds so fresh the skin on his head hadn't colored as bruises yet. And second . . .
At the inner access door, Gail punched the code and the door opened.
"Brody." I glanced quickly around us. We were alone. He paused before exiting through the door. Gail's face seemed to plead for me to leave, to flee, to escape while we could. But I couldn't. Not yet. "That's not Luigi."
He studied the man.
"Are you Luigi Putelli?" Brody asked firmly, his grip on the man's arm digging into the flesh.
The man rattled off sentences in what I figured were Italian, which I didn't know.
"It's not him," I said. "I've seen Luigi in the flesh almost three years ago. And then just days ago at Corban's mock funeral, and two days ago on the news. This guy's too meaty and short. Luigi is tall and thin. His face is bony, even gaunt."
"They intentionally gave us the wrong cell number." Brody clenched his teeth so hard his jaw muscles bulged. The detention officers didn't know what whirlwind they'd sown.
"Intentionally, they gave us a man they hoped we'd believe was Luigi." I looked from Gail to Brody. "This is more than two agencies clashing over jurisdiction of a prisoner. This is blatant subterfuge to mislead a government agency. The guy there said he was just following orders. Who knows how high this goes, who's at the top of this deceit? Luigi, the real Luigi, could even be dead, and this is part of the cover-up."
