Trying to starve the serpent.
Trying to look himself in the mirror every morning, knowing he was useless. They wouldn’t let him put his hands on a patient, wouldn’t let him practice his medical craft. He couldn’t even drive an ambulance, much less work trauma, for fear of his PTSD. Just push papers. Be a consultant.
A man who can’t do his job isn’t a man.
But he had done the job today. He had taken a shooter down like the pro he used to be, and if Elise had been human – normal? – he could have patched her up too, if he hadn’t killed her. Only he hadn’t killed her, he’d killed the suit, and Daniel couldn’t patch him up from dead.
His stomach clenched. No excuse for that murder. He’d crossed the line from watchdog to wolf, and bitten the hand that fed him, no matter how much that hand stank. He’d murdered a duly appointed representative of the United States government.
They never forget that. They will never let me rest.
He could imagine what his father would say. Come on, Dan, pull your head out. You have a vehicle, you have an ally, you have a mission – and you have resources as yet untapped. Stick and rudder, boy. Take control and fly.
Now all he needed was to care. That was the hard part.
The Iron Saddle came up on his right, a big parking lot filled with bikes surrounding a faux-Western building with an enormous roof extension to the front, providing a covered space. Even tonight, temperature in the forties and a bit of a breeze, there were ten or twenty bikers and their old ladies outside, under the roof or sitting on the bikes, knocking back a few. Most of them would be inside, though it shouldn’t be too busy on a Wednesday night.
Steering the van sharply to the right, he drove around the building, parking nose-out in the left rear corner under a hanging tree limb. Easy to see out of, hard to be seen. Sitting there for a moment, he checked the dive watch on his wrist. 300M, it said to him, and 18:56. Four minutes to seven. Close enough, and better to be early than late.
Using the time to settle his pistol in a belly holster and thread the magazine holder onto his belt, he then got out, crossed the parking lot warily toward the back door. Ritalin still sang in his veins, though he knew it wouldn’t last.
Just then the back door flew open and Elise burst through running flat out. A man stepped into the doorway beyond with something big and gunlike in his hands. BOOM, BOOM, it spoke, like a shotgun but twice as loud, and Elise staggered and fell off to Daniel’s left. Strangely, he felt like it was him that got hit, though at a distance, like a fistful of rocks thrown in his face.
In his hindbrain the serpent hissed as he drew his automatic, to lay down covering fire in the direction of the lighted doorway while he crabbed sideways toward his fallen comrade. He figured that was what she was now. Grabbing the back of her jacket collar with his left hand he dragged her behind a convenient Harley trailer, popping off a couple more shots at the doorway. Blood covered her again, smearing his hand and arm. Somehow that shook him more this time.
Real men don’t shoot women. Not intentionally anyway. Bastards.
“Daniel,” Elise gasped, “get out of here. Leave me. I’ll be fine, they just want me back on the leash. Here…” She reached up with one hand to grab his wrist…
Pulled it down toward her face…
Bit him.
He jerked his hand out of her mouth with a reflexive yelp. “What the –” He throttled a curse. The serpent thrashed, demanding to be set free.
“Just go. You’ll understand soon enough. It’s all I can do. Now get away. We’re both still alive, you’re free. Stay that way! Go! Go!” Her eyes were liquid with tears, confusing him.
Right now, he thought, the capture team is probably working their way around both sides of the building, with one guy covering the door that they sure aren’t going to come through again. She’s right; I have to get out now.
“Thanks anyway, and you’re welcome,” he hissed angrily. Crazy bitch, his mind spat unbidden, I was just starting to like her. Shaking his bitten hand in disgust, he backed up low, keeping the trailer between himself and the building. Moving behind the scrubby line of pine trees, he then ran to the back of the van and climbed in the rear door.
Through the windshield he could see one man coming around the right end of the building, with that big shotgun-thing in his hands. It looked like a grenade launcher, one of those rotary kind with a dozen shots, like a huge revolver. Probably loaded with flechette, something to take down a super-healer.
The front parking lot of the building was filled with activity as bikers roared off or spread out to watch from a distance in about equal numbers. The ones with no record or warrants outstanding stayed for the fun, and to prove they were not afraid.
Lights and activity provided a backdrop and enough confusion that Daniel wasn’t worried they would see him here in the back seat of his van, watching from behind the front headrest. They might think it was Elise that had fired at them. It didn’t really matter what they thought, though, for he could hear sirens in the southern distance. Someone had called 911 and Stafford County’s finest were on their way.
Daniel was right; as he watched, they just grabbed Elise and dragged her off, three of them, big men in ill-fitting dark suits. A fourth opened the door to the black Suburban at the edge of the front parking lot, and the thinning crowd of bikers parted like the Red Sea as the three men walked through waving their cannons. Moments later they were gone northbound in a screech of tire smoke.
Daniel followed discreetly, heading north too, trailing behind. He wished he could follow them but that would play into their hands. Instead, he wanted to duck into Quantico Marine Base to avoid getting pulled over by the sheriffs’ department and having to answer their questions. He’d risk the slight possibility of a search at the Marine gate. Usually the faded windshield sticker with Senior Master Sergeant’s stripes, and his retired ID card, were good for a wave-through with hardly a look.
He got in all right at the commissary gate, to relative safety. Whatever you could say about the Agency, they did not like to tangle with the Department of Defense without all their ducks in order. DOD didn’t much like them either, and Defense was the 800-pound gorilla of the US Government.
The sheriffs’ department, on the other hand, had no problem busting service people on County turf. Lawyer’s fees, court costs and fines kept them in shiny new cop equipment, so he was glad to get on base where they couldn’t reach.
Daniel pulled into the on-base McDonald’s drive-through and got two Big Mac meals. Hungry, he’d eaten nothing but a ham sandwich in some very strange circumstances since coming home less than three hours ago. Was it only that long? Since then, his whole world had turned upside down.
Sitting in the parking lot with the van’s rear against the dumpster-corral wall, he watched and thought. He doubted they knew where he was, or they’d have had him by now, but they must have been tracking Elise. Some kind of bug, like the bloodhound modules used in the sandbox for certain ops. About the size of a pack of cigarettes, a little antenna, a strong magnet, turn it on, stick it under an enemy bumper and as long as the battery lasted you could track him, intel or drone fodder.
He crammed burger into his mouth, sucked down the first Coke in one long pull. Eating the entire first large fries in three big bites, he then slowed down to work on the second meal, and kept thinking.