David Golemon - Ripper

“There are protocols that cannot be overlooked, sir. My desk has to be informed, no matter how trivial your section thinks it is, about anything coming or going from North American soil.” She released his hand and looked at the man’s crooked smile, disliking that even more than his handshake. “And this could be far more serious than you realize. The trace test was on an American military officer of some stature inside of government circles. I have to inform Director Easterbrook about this.”

“Well, of course you do, and I would have it no other way. As I said, I’m learning as I go; there was never any offense intended,” he said as he again smiled, returned to his chair, and started writing something on his letterhead. “But before you do, I want you to be able to go to the director with all the information I have available, and the only man that can fill you in properly is my assistant director, none other than Hiram Vickers. He’s at this address, and he’s expecting you,” he said as he folded the letterhead and then slid it across his desk toward Lynn. “He’s going to come clean, where I cannot because Mr. Vickers knows the details far better than I. He’s currently debriefing one of our people at that location. The homeowner is Mr. Dylan Weeks and he allows us to use his Georgetown brownstone from time to time for expedience sake.”

Lynn hesitated in picking the note up. She looked the man over once more and as he continued to smile at her, she saw the vein running just beneath his temple throbbing. She returned the smile only halfheartedly and reached for the address.

“I’ll listen to the why of it, but afterword I have to bring this matter straight to both the director of intelligence and, if she deems it necessary, the director himself.”

“I insist. I want everything to be aboveboard on this. If not, I’ll hold Hiram Vickers for you and let you kick him in the knee.”

Lynn nodded her head and turned to leave.

“Have a nice evening, Ms. Simpson,” Peachtree said. This time there was no smile.

It took Lynn twenty minutes to travel the distance to Georgetown where the address was located. She checked out at Langley at 1:00 a.m. and left the address and name of the man, Mr. Dylan Weeks, where she could be reached by cell.

As she pulled into the drive of the beautiful brownstone, Lynn saw most of the bottom-floor lights on. She saw one of Langley’s vehicles parked in the drive and she parked behind it. As a precaution, she looked into her bag and checked to make sure her nine-millimeter Beretta was handy. She opened the car door with the Cassini file in hand, walked up the winding steps to the front door, and rang the bell. She rang again when no one answered. Then as she started to turn away, Hiram Vickers was suddenly standing in the now-open doorway. He smiled and stepped aside.

“Boy, you made good time,” he said as he gestured for her to come in. “I’m glad we can get this taken care of so you can at least explain to the director our innocent intent.”

Lynn came inside the very-well-appointed brownstone. The house was immaculate.

“Come this way, our man said we can use his study for our talk.”

Lynn followed Vickers to a large double door. He opened one side of it and then stepped through. The room was dark and her instincts kicked in, but her internal warnings made it to the surface of her brain a bit late. As the lights came on she felt a hand grab her wrist as she reached into her bag. She dropped the file she was carrying as the nine millimeter was twisted from her grasp. She swung around to strike Vickers, but his fist beat her to the punch. She was struck on the jaw and went down.

“I guess this will be a lesson you won’t forget soon.” Vickers stood over Lynn and looked at her as she shook her head, trying to clear it.

He reached down, grabbed her by the blouse top, and pulled her to her feet, ripping the blouse material as he did so. Then he pushed her onto a large couch and she flew back until she struck something that kept her from falling onto the floor. She shook her head again and turned to see what was behind her. Her breath caught as she recognized the young girl from Imaging. She was lying half on and half off the couch. As she studied the young girl, she couldn’t see any rise or fall of her chest.

“You son of a bitch,” she said as she pushed herself away from the recently murdered girl. “You killed her because she did her job?” she asked angrily as she finally gained her feet, only to see that Vickers had replaced her gun with one of his own. This one had a noise suppressor attached, and it was aimed at her head.

“Curiosity killed the kitten as they say.” Vickers looked from Lynn to the young Imaging and Tracking technician from the basement at Langley. “Mr. Peachtree said that she was expendable. Sad I know, but securing the country sometimes has its drawbacks.”

“No matter what you do to me, they’ll find out,” Lynn said. “There are those that won’t rest until they know the truth.”

“I’m sure. Even though your kind can never understand it, there are elements involved here that stretch far beyond anything you know. You see, that’s our real job silly woman, one that your bosses at Langley would never understand. It’s the lengths we have to go to protect the American people. Everyone is expendable, Ms. Simpson, everyone.”

Lynn closed her eyes and waited. Her last thoughts were of Jack and her mother. She wanted Jack to save her, but knew he wouldn’t be there this time.

“Jack—” she started to say, hoping his name would calm her.

The shot caught her in the exact center of her chest. Lynn Simpson-Collins fell back onto the couch with her big brother Jack’s name still on her lips.

Alice Hamilton never took her eyes off the intruder as he stood watch over them. She saw him glance at the watch on his wrist every few minutes. Jack started to move on the floor near the man’s booted feet. Alice planned to try for the gun in the kitchen drawer when the man made the move she expected was coming. The mercenary had no idea how spry a woman she was at age eighty-seven. She could outrun most women half her age. Besides, if it was her time, it was her time, and she would gladly sacrifice herself to give Jack a fighting chance.

The man kept looking from his watch to the chair where Alice sat. “I don’t know why you’re smiling lady. If you think you’re making me nervous, you’re out of your gray-colored head.” The man reached over and pulled the Velcro straps from the front of his body armor, loosening it so his body could get some much needed air. Then he thought a moment about the threat the unconscious man at his feet posed, along with the old woman, shook his head, and removed the body armor completely.

Alice continued her smiling ways. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the man when she heard the noise. It was the most subtle of squeaks she could ever remember hearing. She cleared her throat, hoping that her and Jack’s intended killer didn’t hear the same thing.

The man looked at his watch and shrugged. He looked down at Collins as the colonel was trying to raise himself up from the floor.

“Well, it’s been wild,” the man said as he aimed his silenced weapon at the back of Jack’s head. “Sorry I have to do this, but orders are … well … you know?”

As the flash of movement caught her eye, Alice only hoped the gun wouldn’t discharge. There was a quick-sounding thud and then the man froze for the briefest of moments as his eyes lowered to the two steel prongs sticking through his chest just to the center of where his body armor would have protected him. His eyes widened just as Jack came fully to and staggered to his feet. He reached for the back of his head just as he saw the man look up and into his own eyes. Collins saw the two three-foot-long steel prongs protruding from the man’s chest. Jack quickly reached out and shakily pushed the assailant’s gun hand down and then removed it completely from his grip.