“This is not why you’re here!” says Wallis, seemingly imploring the agent in charge to listen to him. The agent ignores him and strides purposefully over to us.
“Adrian Hughes?” he asks me as he stops in front of us. His voice is deep and gravelly, like he smokes forty a day. His eyes are deep set and dark, and his tanned complexion makes him look Mediterranean.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
His eyes narrow, and he squares up to me. “Don’t fuck me around, asshole.”
I smile at him. “I could say the same to you. Thought you were here to help?”
“I’m here to detain a small group of known terrorists until people arrive to take them away.”
“Good, so am I.”
“Are you fucking with me? Or are you genuinely this stupid?”
I smile again. “Bit of both, probably. But we’re on the same side. You should listen to Agent Wallis.”
The agent glances back at Wallis, who’s looking apologetically at me. Then the armed unit moves to surround us.
“Check them for weapons,” he says.
I take a step back as the first man from unit makes a move. I raise my right hand and point my finger at him.
“I swear to God, if you touch me, I’m gonna shove that gun so far down your throat you’ll be shitting bullets,” I warn him. “I won’t tell you again.”
The guy stops. He isn’t intimidated, but I put that down to sheer ignorance. Nevertheless, he stops, making a point of readjusting his grip on his MP5.
Raynor steps in between the armed unit and me, his hands held out to the sides. He looks at the man in charge.
“Agent, I’m Sheriff John Raynor from Devil’s Spring in Texas. As a fellow lawman, I’m asking you to listen to what we have to say. We’re not—”
“Texas?” he says, cutting him off. He looks him up and down with something akin to disgust, lingering a moment longer as he stares at Raynor’s hat. “I never would’ve guessed. Listen, Sheriff John Raynor from Devil’s Spring in Texas, you’re so far out of your jurisdiction, you need a passport to take a piss. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a civilian, and you will do as you’re told or face being detained along with your boy here.” He puts his hand on the left shoulder of the first guy in the unit. “Search them and confiscate everything. If any of them resist, shoot them in the leg.”
He turns and walks off, brushing past Wallis, who looks at me again before following the agent out of the building.
“You heard the man,” says the guy. “Search ’em.”
The unit steps in toward us, letting their weapons hang loose while the first guy covers us. They take Clark’s laptop and phone, and then Raynor’s gun, before pushing them both off to the side. One of the guys walks off with the items and another aims his gun at them. The remaining two look at me.
“Now you,” says the first guy. “Hands to the sides, feet shoulder-width apart. No sudden movements.”
I clench my jaws muscles and reluctantly obey. I have no doubt he’ll shoot me, and now isn’t the time to make any more enemies than I already have. He pats me down and takes my Beretta from my back.
“Now what?” I ask as they step back.
“Outside,” he replies, gesturing with this gun.
We all file outside, and I see Josh and Tori waiting for us on the sidewalk, surrounded by more FBI agents in riot gear.
“What the hell’s going on?” asks Josh as I walk over.
“I have no idea,” I reply with a shrug.
“Wallis?”
I shake my head. “No idea either. This isn’t him.”
The agent in charge walks over to us, with Wallis just behind him.
“The five of you are being transported out of here in a few minutes,” he announces.
“Not by the FBI, I’m guessing?” I say.
His eyes narrow again. It’s obviously not going to be the FBI, and I think he’s a little sore about it.
“No, another team is on its way.” He turns to Wallis. “Good work, Agent.”
Wallis simply hangs his head, knowing someone has played the game better than him.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
The guy stares at Wallis a moment longer, then looks back at me. “I’m Special Agent-in-Charge David Freeman. Why?”
“When all this is over, and the world’s gone to shit, and the American people are looking for someone to blame, I want to know whose name to give them. Now I do.”
He holds my gaze momentarily, and then turns on his heels, striding off toward the huddle of armed men. The unit of four spreads out in a semi-circle around us, guns trained in our direction.
I look at Wallis. “What happens now?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I thought I could trust him. I thought they were here to help.”
“It’s not your fault. They probably were here to help. I suspect they got a call on their way here with new orders.”
He frowns. “From who?”
A large black transit van approaches, and screeches to a halt nearby, with a matching black sedan behind it. The side doors slide open, and three men jump out. They’re dressed in black with no marking on their uniform. The same steps out from the car. Freeman moves to meet them, but they barge past him, heading straight for us. They frog-march us to the van and line us up. Tori looks at me with fear in her eyes.
“It’s alright, babe,” I say, trying to reassure her. “We’ll be fine.”
In truth, I wasn’t sure we would be.
Before any of us can react, they secure our hands bound behind our backs using zip ties, and bags are placed over our heads. We’re ushered into the back of the van, and in the darkness I hear the door slide shut. I hear the scuffling as we all re-position ourselves so we’re sitting upright against the sides.
“Adrian, I’m scared,” whispers Tori, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Don’t be,” I say. “We’ve got rights. They can’t hurt us. Just lawyer up and plead ignorance — you’ll be out of this in an hour.”
“What about you?”
I sigh. “I… might have a bit more explaining to do.”
34
The bag is whipped off my head, and my eyes sting in the bright lights. I squint for a moment until they adjust. It’s always disorienting when you travel with your eyes covered. You lose your sense of direction very quickly — especially when you set off from somewhere you’re unfamiliar with. You can try and keep track of time, to help you get a rough idea of where you are when you stop, but your mind wanders too easily, which puts paid to that after a few minutes. I have no idea how long we were on the road, or where we were heading.
I blink a few times and look around me. I’m in a small room, no bigger than ten by ten. There’s a mirror along the wall to my left. There’s a table in front of me and a chair opposite. I’m sitting with my hands still bound behind me and resting over the back of my chair. There’s a constant, low buzz from the lights above me, and a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. The door’s on my right in the far corner.
And that’s it.
I turn and look at the mirror. It has to be a two-way — I wonder who’s behind it, watching me…
I hope everyone else is alright. I suspect they’re all in similar rooms. I’m not concerned about Tori. She’s nothing to do with this. She’s a victim, plain and simple. Whoever took us doesn’t have any grounds for holding her.
It’s Josh and Clark I’m worried about. GlobaTech is on the NSA’s radar, and they’ve been heavily involved in tracking the Armageddon Initiative, running missions to stop them. Even before I got dragged into all this, they were elbow-deep in terrorists. They’re going to get both barrels here.