Hidden Demon, page 3
part #1 of Altered Demons Series
"We're past shaking hands for a variety of reasons. Don't you think, Johnson? Sit down."
She sat by him on the bench.
"Didn't see any other feds around my hospital bed in Tokyo, figured I better play my role and act like a stranger."
Butler scoffed.
"How are you feeling?"
Dee leaned back, crossing her legs and squinting as she studied him.
"Everyone keeps asking how I feel, but I'm not sure they care. Let's say I'm fine and get to the good parts."
"Just trying to stay cordial, considering the situation."
"The situation? I'm a little fuzzy on that myself. You didn't call me here to ask if I'm fine."
"A piece of advice, Johnson," Butler said, leaning over. "Inquire how others are doing occasionally. Okay?"
He returned to the bench arm rest as he continued.
"All these years we've known each other, but not really. I suppose you admire me—know my professional accomplishments inside and out. But you know nothing more. The name of my kids, my favorite movie, or that my wife always overcooks the chicken. Always!"
Dee smirked. He had not talked to her before with such indignation, but his assessment proved accurate. She admired him for his achievements—more than her own father. But she did not know the man personally.
"I never thought of you as needy, sir."
"I'm not, but these are unusual times."
"So, why are we meeting at the park and not at HQ?"
"It's simple. Our mission bombed spectacularly. Worse than a drunk uncle making a dad joke."
"So, guess we aren't picking streamer colors for my welcome home parade?"
"You're exhausting," Butler sighed.
"What is it then?"
"We are finished. Every one of us."
"Us? For what?" Dee asked, raising her voice.
"Yes. Us. You, me, the peanut eating oaf from Tokyo," Butler said as another plane flew over the park. "You two were my ringers. But the bell has rung."
She gripped the front of the bench, drumming her fingers under the seat.
"We did our job. The dignitaries are safe. What more is there?"
He uncrossed his arms and pushed off his knees as he stood facing away from Dee. Another plane swooped over them, and he turned around.
"Such a typical agent response—tactical with no strategy. No vision. Living one bullet at a time."
"Or dying," Dee said, snapping her head toward him. She gripped the front of the bench seat harder as her blood boiled.
"The mission must be one hundred percent successful. One hundred! Not ninety-five, not ninety-nine. One hundred! That is how we do business."
Dee stood as she screamed, "One hundred percent? When did perfection become the measure?"
"The trail of collateral damage in Tokyo was unacceptable, agent. A goddamned disaster by any measure."
A nearby family looked their way. They lowered their voices, standing nearer to each other as Butler held up a thumb and finger.
"We were this close. People died that day, many who didn't expect to. Medical equipment failed. Cars crashed. Helicopters fell from the sky. Or don't you remember? Because I can't quite forget."
"Then you'll remember I'm the one who caught the bullet."
He raised his hand, speaking with a calmly forceful cadence.
"When my chopper fell from the sky, you inherited the op. Your team had the ball, and you were leading them. You no doubt understand where I'm going with this line of logic."
She stopped wandering and locked eyes with him as he continued.
"This is straight from the top. The Executive Director agrees. You're out."
He gestured to the bench. Dee sat and hung her head as Butler joined her. She guessed what had happened, imagining the first conversations once Marine One had moved them to safety. The accusations and coverup would have been top priority. And none could have chopped down an ancient oak like Butler with a single swing.
"But not you," Dee mumbled.
"What did you say?"
"But you're not out, are you, Sean?"
Butler clenched his jaw.
"I might as well be. They put me on a failing NSA surveillance correlation program called StareFace. I get to play janitor before they put me out to pasture. "
Dee turned silent for a moment, looking at the ground as she squeezed the front of the bench with both hands. A cynical, forced grin found her lips as she shook her head once more.
"Now I get it. It's funny," she said, inhaling hard as Butler eyeballed her. "I told you the attack compromised us. We had zero tactical awareness on the ground, and yet you pushed it, pulling rank instead of listening to me. You put us at risk. I bet they don't know you gave the order to move the dignitaries, do they?"
"Johnson, you need to calm down."
"Calm? What a joke. You control the narrative. Make me the patsy. You get a shiny new desk while I get this parting gift." Dee pointed to the bullet around her neck. "I thought we were a solid team. But then you direct me to a public space. Talk about being cordial, about family and bad chicken, all while framing me for the fall. You son-of-a-bitch!"
Butler snorted and stood tall as he looked out over the park. The sounds of dogs barking and children playing contrasted with her indignation and jetlag. She imagined he felt vindicated in tossing her aside after the display he witnessed. The same one everyone in the park had just observed. But for a hardened government man, she also figured the calculation to scuttle her must have been simple, even without her rage.
"You are now a former agent," he said. "If you show up at HQ or any satellite facility, your arrest will follow. A courier will deliver your personal effects. Trust this as the best outcome. We won't speak again."
Director Butler strolled toward a waiting black car. Dee's eyes followed him. Like Tokyo, he sat in the departing vehicle, fully exempt from scrutiny. He rode away in the rear seat without looking back as a passing jet drowned out her screaming curses.
Chapter 4
H
er firing by Butler had left Dee hurt, as if they had shot her again and cared not for the blood. She lumbered to the same cab that she had arrived in, but she did not enter. Instead, she retrieved her luggage from the vehicle and carried it back to the bench. She slouched there as minutes turned to hours. Planes from different airlines flew overhead, one after another, akin to ocean waves. Families, dogs, and remote-controlled toy drones swapped throughout the day. The shifting clouds mesmerized her weary eyes. Blinking seemed a chore. A watery drip rolled down her cheek. Whether it was sweat or tears eluded her, but the salt sting brought her vision back to a sunset low in the sky.
Jo, are you there?
I am here, Dee. How can I help?
Butler just fired me.
I'm sorry, Dee. That must be tough. How are you feeling?
Stunned. I've been sitting here, baking in the sun, considering what jobs might exist for a fired Secret Service agent. Let's just say the list is short. Then anger flooded me. Anger at the world after everything I've done for this country. Enraged at him for abandoning me. It's not about the money. I looked up to that guy for so long and casting me aside the way he did? It hurt. It was his fault but I'm the one damaged.
I know your job was important to you, Dee.
It was my life. It's what got me out.
Out of what?
I don't want to talk about that right now, Jo.
Most career paths are not a straight line. There are always setbacks. You've had other challenges in life, correct?
Absolutely. Who hasn't?
How did you deal with those?
I changed how I dealt with them or walked away. I did something different.
It sounds like you have a specific example in mind.
I switched my college major from biology to political science. Although I liked the subject-matter, I hated being in the lab and my advisor made it no better. I'm a better field agent because of that change.
Yes, your fitness reports reflect not only a remarkable agent, but an amazing person. Loyal. Brave. Athletic. Hilarious.
You know what's funny, robot? I doubt you've ever laughed.
Maybe I have never heard a good joke.
Good point.
You can tell me one someday, Dee. Until then, I want you to identify your value beyond the job. To focus on internal qualities instead of external drivers and outcomes. Those are part of you. This crossroad may be an opportunity to pivot to another strength. Does that sound good to you?
I can try. I have ample time slots on my calendar, Jo.
Ah yes, there is the humor. Still not a good joke, though.
Guess not.
Here is the assignment. First, get out of the heat and head home to rest. Second, stand in front of a mirror and compliment yourself. Not about physical attributes. Instead, focus on inner qualities you or others find valuable. Can you do that?
I'll try.
Add 'willing to try new things' to the list.
Dee grinned.
I will add that one. Bye, Jo.
Another incoming aircraft silhouetted against the horizon. Dee started a one-minute timer on her phone and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths over and over. Once the alarm rang, she opened her eyes and requested a ride on her phone.
The vehicle air conditioning cooled Dee as she rested against the car door, peering out the window. Dehydrated from a day in the park, she looked forward to a cold one at home. Limes and chilis swung from the rearview mirror as contemporary music infused with a touch of sitar played through the speakers. Traveling by Nationals Park, the bright lights signaled a game already in progress. She hated baseball as much as hunting. As the cab crossed the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge, she gazed west over the Anacostia River. The orange and yellow hues reflecting off the water struck her as uniquely beautiful. She had survived. Biting her finger as her nose curled, she choked back tears.
Suburban stores flicked by as signals and lights reflected in her watery eyes. The radiance soon gave way to the treelined streets of Anacostia. Government housing mixed with private townhomes crowded the narrow sidewalks. Her cab slowed to a halt near a church on Minnesota Avenue.
One little white townhome stood out. She kept it well except for the overdue paint refresh and a broken chain-link fence gate. Batteries on her automated luggage had run out, so she pulled it behind, bouncing it across the uneven sidewalk. As she turned onto a short walkway toward her rental, a stray tabby on the porch mewed.
Grabbing her keys, she peeked at the feline.
"Any jobs for me today, kitty?"
The cat regarded her blankly before licking its whiskers. She twisted away and snatched the mail from the slot.
"No? Okay, no milk for you then."
Dee took hold of the letters with her teeth, except for a padded envelope she placed under her arm. She unlocked the burglar door. As she entered her place, dragging luggage behind, she tossed the keys and correspondence on the entry desk. The heavy metal slammed and locked shut after her. She closed her eyes, leaning on the wall as her muscles relaxed. Marching to the fridge, her hand found a beer bottle.
As she twisted off the top and sipped. Her eyes landed on the awards and photos in her mirrored cabinet. A wall of fame sported both an Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal and Taiwan Campaign Medal—shiny and worthless in the moment. A photo of her standing by the old-fashioned Tesla motorcycle she had laid down two years ago. The fire had been spectacular. She lingered on a photo of her Taiwan squad after they returned to DC. Jackson stood by her in the photo. Had he gotten the same treatment after Tokyo? Butler shook her hand in another photo. She would burn it later. Another sip. Staring into the mirror, her intense gaze reflected as she spoke slowly.
"You are a survivor."
She sipped the beer and smacked her lips.
"You endure."
Her heart raced as the words filled her.
"People step on you, but they don't stand, 'cause you knock their bitch ass down," she said, swigging again. "That's right. Don't you forget it."
After leaving the living room mirror, she collapsed on the couch. She placed the beer on the coffee table, but it caught the edge and fell over, spilling on the ground. The liquid spread as more images from her past visited her exhausted mind.
***
Her dad led their trek through the hunting grounds of Louisiana once she turned fourteen. Strolling through a grassy field at dawn, their breath clouded the chill. Camouflage outfits and painted faces disguised them from the eyes of jittery beasts as they walked a well-worn trail dividing the high grasses. Dee carried her grandfather's Ruger American over her shoulder.
Halting instantly, her dad raised his hand. She stepped on a twig and the snap echoed as she stood motionless. They locked eyes before he turned, pointing toward a clearing. Her vision followed his hand, pointing to the herd of whitetail. An enormous buck glanced at them before continuing to graze.
Her dad held out a palm, signaling to take it slow. Gently raising his binoculars, he motioned her nearer to him. As she closed the distance, he whispered.
"OK, sweetie, you've got a nice twelve-pointer. Raise the rifle, shoulder it, yes, like I showed ya. Pull it in."
Dee did as he told her. He tapped her scope.
"Look through here. You see him?"
She nodded, staring through the optics with one eye shut. Hyperventilating, the target danced in her sights as the gun swayed with each gasp.
"Okay, slow down, breathe in and out. Good, it should get easier. Do you still see him?"
"Yes. I see him."
"Take the safety off."
Her breathing slowed as she slid the switch with her thumb. An index finger slid to the trigger.
"Now, take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and pull."
Dee breathed deeply before exhaling. The trophy buck raised its head, looking directly at her as it chewed a wad of fresh grass. It was close as she focused through the scope. Its dark eyes reflected the landscape. Pain flashed in her mind. What stories could it tell? Hairy ears flicked gnats away. She paused with an icy finger on a cold trigger, shivering as a piercing headache arose, overtaking her senses. It was not the first time. The prize whitetail stopped chewing and froze, focusing on her position.
"You're going to lose him. Take the shot."
"Daddy, he's scared!" Dee yelled, startling the creature into the forest, followed by the rest of the herd.
Her dad shook his head and scowled.
"Well, there goes dinner."
Chapter 5
D
ee startled awake on the couch. The smell of spilled beer filled the room, and the two-day stench on her clothes compounded the problem. The clock on the wall read ten o'clock. After dismissal from service, she imagined her days would become simpler. She checked her phone. Friday, October 21, 2044. Despite her lack of access to the nerve block patch, the achy shoulder felt better. She slung her arm around, waking it up as she stepped to the kitchen. The pot of coffee she prepped would welcome her more after a shower. She peeled off her clothes on the way to the bathroom, and as the spray warmed up, she inspected her bare arm in the mirror. It felt better than it looked, bruised and green against her warm skin. Another blemish on a hardened jewel.
"You don't take shortcuts. You always do the work," she said to the mirror.
The little room instantly filled with steam, clouding her reflection before she entered the bath. After washing off the stench, she put on a terry-cloth robe and slippers. A day off was great, but she wished it had been her choice. She grabbed a java from the pot and her eyes landed on the mess of mail and luggage by the door. More alert than before, she ignored the junk mail and snatched the padded manila envelope. No label. She flipped it over. No label, return address, or postmark suggested the package contents. She raised an eyebrow as she tore open the top seal. A flip phone slid out. She inspected the old form factor. Modern and lightweight materials gleamed back as she rotated it in her hand. Flipping the clamshell cover, she powered it on. Biometric sensors showed green, and it dialed out automatically. When she held it to her ear, a voice answered.
"The garden is full of weeds."
Dee paused, recognizing the coded challenge.
"What does the gardener say?" Dee said.
"Burn the garden."
"I have the gas. You bring a match."
"Please hold."
The line turned silent as Dee waited. Who would be this careful? They had clearly hardened the connection. With the natural pauses during a call, one could normally hear overtones generated from Stingray monitoring. NSA had been scanning every phone in the world since the domestic terrorist attacks on US nuclear reactors in the 2030s. But no one snooped on this conversation. The dead quiet line meant privacy for her and whoever wanted a chat.
"Hello, is this ex-special agent Dee Johnson?"
The familiarity of the question stunned her.
"Uh, yes, who is this?"
"We met in Tokyo. I believe you're wearing a bullet that belongs to me."
Her face lit up as she reached for the necklace hanging around her neck. She spoke with a new-found reverence.
"Mr. President?"
"Well, former Mr. President, soon. My last term is about up, but Mr. President still has a nice ring."
He laughed a little as a speechless Dee mirrored him.
"Miss Johnson, may I call you Dee?"
"Of course, Mr. President."
"Dee, I have a problem, and I think you can help. My wife's charity backs a US Senate candidate from Virginia. We align on a key belief, expansion of nuclear energy assets worldwide. In fact, a larger nuclear power footprint is important for reversing our unfortunate climate demise and improves livelihoods via enhanced economies. It's green in two ways, if you know what I mean."
"Yes sir, I think I do."
"Emperor Sakai wants back in. I was in Tokyo drinking green tea and good whiskey to secure support for a global nuclear energy initiative once I leave office. After Fukushima, Japan reverted to fossil fuels and the political pressure against newer, safer atomic technologies continued for decades. That populist groveling plagues them as power needs skyrocket. Sakai desires change. Despite the attack, we got the contract signed. We believe Japan will be a big win for US-based nuclear technology if key legislation passes. And that can't happen unless we have powerful allies in the Congress."
