Praise for Ionshaker

Nuclear-Powered Thriller - “IONSHAKER by Timothy Felix is a tense thriller from the start. I really enjoyed this read and have to say that it's a page turner throughout with characters that effortlessly pull you deeper into the web of IONSHAKER. If you love a fast paced thriller then this is one to buy. Hats of to Timothy Felix! Can't give too much away to potential readers.....it wouldn't be fair.” – Annie Frame, author of IMPRINT

A heart-Stopping, Action-Packed Thrill Ride! – “I felt the author has a great premise for the storyline and one can imagine how the device can be used to gain control over any country if they have it…I feel overall the author did an exceptional job with his novel.” – Kat, http://reviewsfromtheheart.blogspot.com

A worthwhile thriller – “Brimming with memorable characters, thrilling action shots, theories, titles, murder and more, Ionshaker is a quick-paced, heart thumping rollercoaster. Felix Timothy takes you on a ride from scene to scene, giving the reader glimpses to pull the clues from to determine who is responsible. If you enjoy reading mystery thrillers with a lot of chases, action and good detective work, give Ionshaker a try.” - Wendy Hines


Dedication

The First has to be you John Kioko. You loved my story right from its inception, despite its many shortcomings back then. Thanks man, you made me a writer. Victor Omare a.k.a ‘Pildash’ you can probably tell this story better. You know it off head, right? Thanks for your support. And Mom, thanks for everything…and I mean ‘kila kitu.’


Preface

I must start by thanking all those who read my first draft three years ago, back then titled No Place to Hide. And I’m calling it a draft because looking back it really was a draft - not a book. I was very green to this kind of serious writing. I hadn't published anything before, and so I didn’t really understand the protocols, the techniques, the intricate strategies, how to expertly use few words without sounding shallow, or how to play around with many words without coming off as superfluous, to concoct a legendary, enthralling and addictive work of fiction. And I can tell you right now - it's not a joke!
Friends, family, potential fans (don’t ask me why I’m saying potential – it’s complicated), those I know and those I don't, those I've met and those I'm yet to, thank you so much for your support. If you understand my history, then you know this is a milestone for me.

Anyways, my point is, it has been a long journey but I’m finally here – you are about to read my story. But if you wanna know where I’m coming from, read my blog http://feltim.blogspot.com. You’ll be surprised.


Prologue


Two weeks earlier…

“Please,” she begged Hugo.
“Those are the terms,” Hugo responded with stern eyes.
“I’ll do anything except this,” she begged with tears lingering in her eyes.
“I don’t want you to do anything except this.”
“Please don’t kill me or him. He is totally harmless, I assure you. Come on Hugo we can work something out.”
Hugo took a moment then said, “Okay, we sure can. We’ll fake your death and give you a new identity. From next week, you’ll be called Kemi Rolling, born and raised in Harlem, New York.”
“What about him, I can’t do that to him - I love him.”
“My understanding is you were assigned to keep an eye on him not to love him, but instead you married him?” Hugo chuckled then added you knew the risks and you knew this day would come. You love him, I don’t care, that’s your problem. All I need you to do is get me the device. Get me Ionshaker.”
“I‘ve lived with him, he knows nothing, he’s not a threat, I can assure you.”
“He wasn’t, but now he is,” Hugo replied coldly.
“Why now, he hasn’t done anything. What changed?”
“Ironside and Ionshaker – that’s what. Just remember. If you do love him the way you say you do, you’ll do what I tell you. That’s my final position. So what is it gonna be, Kemi?”
She turned away from him wiping her tears with the back of her hands then asked after a while, “When am I supposed to die – this fake death I mean?”
“In two weeks.”

http://feltim.blogspot.com, http://www.facebook.com/TheFeltim, Twitter ID: TheFeltim


Part I
The Manhunt



Titles.

The first lady of the house on Foothill Road Beverly Hills California, the loving wife, the courteous neighbor, the one and only Mrs. Brooke Woodley had just been awarded more new titles: the late, the deceased, the former, the murder victim.
She had been shot dead in her own house, in her own living room, now titled “the crime scene.”

The LAPD were the first to arrive at the house, oh sorry, the crime scene, and were sniffing around, fervently scavenging for signs, facts, suggestions and indications - searching for evidence.

But their stage presence was short lived.

The pompous arrival of the big boys, the tiptop connoisseurs of crime scenes, the so raved about FBI grabbed all the attention from the media, the neighbors and other idlers.
Yet, even these cognoscente investigators were just like dogs, with leaders of the pack. Two detectives – a somewhat conceited man in his thirties, the lead detective, and a blond in her late twenties with a pretty face and the body of a model, the deputy to the self-important man – stood out in the elite pack as the leaders.

The two hurriedly entered the house.

“Brett Dawson, FBI. This is my deputy Nicole Anderson. We understand that you were looking into a robbery– am I correct?” Brett asked quickly as if he had come with all the answers.
“Yeah, something like that. Someone called 911 and gave this house’s address.”
“What did the caller say?”
“Not much. He just rambled that he’d heard a gunshot then cut the call.”
“And what did you find when you got here?”
“Her,” the officer said gesturing to Brooke’s body. The three started moving to the center of the living room.
“And what do we have here?” Brett asked rhetorically stepping closer to the covered body and after squatting, he gently lifted the white sheet to take a peek. But as soon as he lifted the sheet, camera shutters began clicking as camera flashes played over the partially revealed, blanched face.
“At first we thought it had been a violent robbery but when we looked closely we realized that nothing had been stolen and there wasn’t any indication to support a robbery theory. So we called you guys,” the officer explained to the two federal agents.
“Tell us about your robbery theory,” Brett said straightening up to listen to the officer’s response.
“An armed burglar broke into the house to loot, Brooke returned home much earlier than anticipated and stumbled upon the thief in the living room, startling the armed thief into firing a shot.”

Then quietly Brett threw random glances around the cozy living room. In the meantime, his aficionado counterparts – the forensic team – were busy foraging the house for any sort of clue: foot prints, finger prints, hairs, scratches, broken glass, vandalized locks, you name it.

The murder victim had been bumped off around 7:15 pm and by the time the police arrived at the house, Brooke Woodley had already been titled – the late.
The array of photos embellishing the living room sent a clear message: Brooke’s marriage had been bliss. The faces of the newlyweds were full of life, beaming with joy and happiness.

For reasons best known to himself, Brett was strangely drawn to one of the wedding photos. In the photo, the husband was kissing his precious new wife on the lips.
Nicole quietly watched the lead detective stare at the picture like he’d been struck by some form of brain freeze. The blonde couldn’t see anything peculiar about the photo. She wondered what he was seeing.

But little did she know that Brett was actually pitying the husband, who’d arrive home at any time after a typical excruciating nine-to-five and find the love of his life – the Juliet in his own interpretation of the epic romantic story, his Rose in his conjured version of the Titanic movie, his young beautiful wife – spread out on their velvet carpeted living room floor, dead and covered in gore under a white sheet.
It was still very early to accurately profile the murder and the reasons behind it now that the robbery theory had been ruled out.

Across the room, Brett saw the murder weapon on a coffee table – a small J-frame Smith and Wesson air-weight revolver – properly sealed in a transparent evidence bag, after the gun had been recovered in the hallway leading to the back door.
He dipped into his jacket to take out a pair of gloves as he walked to the coffee table then lifted up the aluminum alloy framed 642 model, with stainless steel barrels and cylinders, to check it out.

“Only one bullet is missing,” the officer said as Brett emptied the barrel.
The cop was right, had it been a robbery, broken glass, twisted locks, scratches or abrasions of some kind would be found in the house. Moreover, nothing appeared to have been pinched from the house.
“The officer is right,” Nicole told Brett who was still studying the gun.
“Any theories?” Brett asked her without looking at her as he returned the gun into the evidence bag.
“She must have either pissed somebody off so badly, or knew something she wasn’t supposed to,” Nicole answered quickly surprising the two men at how quickly she came up with that.
The two men remained quiet; they didn’t have anything better than the deputy’s theory.
“I guess its time to go now,” the officer excused himself as soon as the coroner and his assistant rolled a stretcher to the center of the living room in order to pick Brooke’s body.
“Just one question before you go,” Brett turned quickly.
“Sure.”
“What about the husband…” Brett pretended to have just forgotten the name. The truth is he didn’t know it.
“Trey Woodley? We’ve been trying to reach him ever since when we arrived but our calls have been going straight to voicemail,” the officer said with a slight smirk on the face.
“What about his friends, colleagues…?”
“Those we contacted last saw him at work…no one knows where he is.”
“Thank you officer,” Brett said shaking his hand as Nicole grinned at him and the officer reciprocated with a slight nod then turned to go. To discover the root cause, Brett and Nicole had to look beyond what was on the table. They had to dig for motives, enemies and secrets.

Brett was still looking around when he heard the coroner say, “We’re heading back to the lab to start on the autopsy. Maybe she’ll tell us more in the lab.”
“You go do your autopsy this evening, but I need that report – first thing yesterday morning.”

After the body was rolled out, Nicole stepped closer to Brett to brainstorm.
“There’s no indication of a forced entry, no witnesses, the place is super clean with no prints not even a scratch, nothing appears to have been stolen and for sure the shooter was a pro,” Nicole said with her eyes keen on him and her arms entwining across her chest.
“What about motive?” Brett looked at her as he asked.
“Still a mystery to me, you’ve cracked it?”
“Nope, I pretty much agree – it’s a mystery.”
“Hmm…for once,” she remarked with a hint of satisfaction, as if she’d won an argument or had proved a point.
“Don’t celebrate just yet. I want you to find out everything about her; did they own a gun? If they did, which type, who registered for it, where did she work? Girlfriends, boyfriends…” Brett said authoritatively as if to reaffirm that he was still the one running the show.
“Whoa! Did you just say boyfriends?” Nicole retorted quickly, stepping closer to Brett.
“You heard correct,” he stared into her piercing blue eyes.
“Boyfriends? Seriously?” She raised her voice.
“Yeah, what’s the problem?” His voice went a notch higher.
“I saw you staring at the wedding photo. Didn’t you see anything?”
“Like, they were happy?” He scowled.
“Wasn’t it obvious?”
“I’m not accusing her of anything but what if she was having a fling and her husband found out?” Brett reflectively turned to the lovely wedding photo as he asked.
“So we’re already accusing her of cheating?” Nicole fired the question instantly and Brett took a moment before softly answering, “No we’re keeping an open mind.”
“But you’re already convinced the husband did it,” she said as she started to walk to the picture.
“We don’t have anything; anybody could be a suspect, even a loving husband.”
“I think you’re way off on this one, Sherlock Holmes,” she said stretching her hand to touch the photo.
“Let’s see. What time is it?” He turned to her.
“9:15, why?” She asked gazing into his eyes with no idea of where he was going with the random and seemingly out of context question.
“Happy husbands get home early to be with their loving wives. We’ve been here what, almost an hour? Isn’t it getting late for a happily married man to still be out?”
“Suppose it was you?” She challenged him quickly.
“Suppose it was me what?”
“Suppose you were married, would you be home right now? No. Why, because you’re still working, see? Your assumption proves nothing,” she finished the sentence then shrugged her shoulders.
“The cold fact is, many people who work late do so to avoid spending more time with their mates. You wanna guess why?”
“Because they’re not happy? Is that why you’re still single?” Still looking at him, she tilted her head to study his reaction to the question. She was purposely digressing from the main topic.
“When did it become personal?”
“Are you scared to talk about your singleness?” She continued pushing.
“Let me get something straight, are you attracted to me?”
“What! No, are you crazy?” A surprise frown instantly formed on her face as she quickly went on to clarify, “don’t let it get into your head. I can never be interested in you okay?” She wanted an answer; she needed to hear him say he understood nothing could spark between them.
“And why are you suddenly investigating my singleness?”
“Let’s just leave it at that,” she said looking away. Though she started it, it suddenly felt awkward being put on the spot over the issue.
“Okay. Any theories on the husband’s whereabouts?” Brett asked turning from her to stare at the photo again.
“No.”
“You better come up with some soon because we need to arrest him as soon as possible.”
They needed to find Trey Woodley, Brooke’s husband who had vanished into thin air.


2


“Tit-it…tit-it…tit-it…”
It was the sound of Brett’s bedside alarm harshly introducing a new action-packed day of chasing all sorts of yahoos; from rapists to pedophiles, professional scam artists to armed robbers, etcetera.

On that day, Brett was to hunt down one man suspected to have murdered his wife in cold blood. The good thing was that there was someone else to help him with the heavy lifting – Nicole Anderson.

Though not necessarily a skyscraper with her medium height and figure-eight slim body, with her long youthful wavy hair, narrow face fitted with deep blue piercing eyes, augmented by a perfect nose and a pair of dimpled high cheeks, it was befitting to call the stunning hot blondie a head-turner. While men found every reason to befriend her, asides from her small circle of girlfriends, many women envied her.

However, as is the case with great love stories – from popular vampire-themed novels to traditional Mexican soap operas, all heroes and heroines in the love stories had to overcome brick walls in their quest for love.

Brett could not make a move on Nichole because of who her dad was. Donny Anderson was an overprotective father, a stringent boss, and the man in charge of the Los Angeles FBI Criminal Division. Donny Anderson was one man who had the power to make Brett’s life a living nightmare.

After he finished grooming, he grabbed his car keys from the coffee table on his way out, picking his daily at the doorstep.

His first glance at the front page made his day. He was part of the mainstream news; and he loved media attention. The headline was about a company going under, but a small article on the front page was titled: “Get’em Brett!” with Brooke Woodley’s picture.
He entered his black double cab Ford Avalanche and drove off.

His first stop was at a coffee shop for breakfast. He would also use the time to skim through the newspaper, before heading to the FBI Field Office headquarters on 11000 Wilshire Boulevard, where a brown envelope – Brooke’s autopsy report, was waiting for him.

The report positively matched the bullet pulled from Brooke’s body with the other five found in the gun recovered at the crime scene. The report also indicated that Brooke Woodley was killed by the rupturing of the heart as the bullet plowed through the delicate organ.

Nonetheless, though the gun had been identified to belong to Trey Woodley, the forensics experts had failed to get any finger prints on the gun. But the report wasn’t entirely fruitless. Swabs from the body tested positive for semen samples; the murder victim, or probably the rape and murder victim, had engaged in sexual activity either willingly or unwillingly prior to her death.

That last finding confirmed Brett’s suspicions.

One could have deduce that Brooke was having an affaire de coeur, her husband found out and confronted her about it, an altercation ensued and he shot her in the heat of the moment.

Or maybe there was no affair; the husband just slew his wife soon after being with her, or maybe the boyfriend did it.

Either way, it was necessary for Brett to find Brooke’s husband ASAP in order to crack the murder mystery.

Speaking of the husband, by the time Brett and Nicole had left the crime scene on the previous night, the widower had not yet turned up, and all attempts of reaching him by phone had turned futile.

That raised eyebrows.

Brett was so wrapped up in the report that he had failed to notice Nicole peek in, clad in a short, chic, cream-colored suit and a pair of black stilettos at the door.
“Hey bookworm!”
Her hair swayed to the side as she rested her head on the doorframe, waiting for his response.
“Hi,” he replied looking up.
“What does it say?” She asked, sitting in a spare chair.
“That I was right and you were wrong,” he replied with a sense of satisfaction.
“Come on, I know you’re just blowing a trumpet.”
“Am I?” Brett paused for a bit before continuing, “The gun belonged to the husband.”
“Still, it doesn’t prove the husband did it,” She waved her hand in dismissal as she replied.
“Semen present.”
“No kidding, you mean…?” Surprised, she quickly leaned forward as she went on to ask, “Was she….? Wait a minute, have you matched the samples with the husband’s DNA or something?”
“Not yet…”
“Exactly…”
She sank back into the chair.
“But when I do…”
“If you do,” she corrected him.
“Fine, if I do, it’ll mean the husband was almost certainly the last person to see her alive, and you know what that means.”
“Assuming you’ll get a positive match on the semen.”
“Some yes-we-can optism, please.”
“But don’t you find it strangely abnormal for someone to sleep with his wife and then shoot her?”
She sat up straight and a frown formed as she asked.
“And who said murders are normal?” Brett asked rotating his chair to his right.
“Okay, I give up,” she said raising both of her hands up as a sign of surrender.
“If I remember correctly you were to do some digging.”
“On her boyfriends you mean?”
She really emphasized the word ‘boyfriends.’
“Just tell me the name.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, there’re no boyfriends – not even acquaintances. But I may agree with you on one thing.”
“Can’t wait to hear what that is.”
Brett stopped rotating the chair to listen.
“The pictures in the living room...”
“I knew it,” he interjected with a broad smile on his face.
“She was seeing a shrink, happy now?”
“Pay the shrink a visit and confront him about the affair…” Brett said quickly placing his elbows on the desk.
“Hold your horses Joey Greco, confront him about what affair? I just told you this woman had no extra marital thingy.”
“If the husband is innocent as you believe then the next automatic suspect is her psychiatrist. Its possible she was having the extramarital with her shrink.”
“Are you even serious?”
Nicole couldn’t believe him.
“Very. Just think about it,” Brett rose from his chair as he went on, “the last person to be with her, slept with her, and it was someone she knew and trusted, and if her marriage was in shambles and she didn’t have any boyfriends, then we’re left with only one candidate – the shrink.”
“You can really make stuff up. So now it’s no longer the jealous husband?”
Nicole challenged him back.
“It still could be… but right now I’m going with the shrink.”
Immediately Brett said that, Nicole burst out laughing before asking, “What? Do you even know the doctor’s name?”
“No, why, is it someone I know?”
“Sorry Genius. The shrink is called Jordin Stevenworth, and she’s a woman. The autopsy results found semen in the body and in case you skipped biology class, allow me to let you in on a little secret; we women don’t have those little swimmers.” She whispered the last bit of the sentence, then smiled. She had beaten him ten-nil by letting him yap about the shrink.
“Doesn’t matter. Find out what was bothering her anyway. You might be right after all. Maybe she knew something she wasn’t supposed to. In that case, find out what the million-dollar secret it is.”
“What about you?”
“You just exonerated the shrink, right?”
“So you just copy and paste the culpability to the husband?”
Nicole rose from her chair too.
“You’re such a genius,” he answered sarcastically then smiled.
“Do you have any clue where to find him?”
“I don’t have any hobbies aside from catching bad guys. I don’t know about you but this is kind of my thing.”
“Really?” she asked, slightly tilting her head in feigned concern.
“Really,” he replied confidently.
“Hmm, I have a suggestion for you.”
“I’m listening,” he said looking straight into her eyes.
“Start with the easier hobbies like…”
“Like…?”
He leaned on desk to face Nicole. Likewise Nicole leaned on the desk to gaze straight into his eyes and paused for about two seconds before saying, “Dating women…you know those people you meet on the street wearing skirts with long hair…”
“End of chit chat, I’m not going there with you again.”
He pulled away from the table.
Nicole straightened up with a wide smile on her face and walked to the door, but just before she disappeared in the hallway, she turned to him and said, “Chicken.”
But you’d be so mistaken to think they were enemies. Their constant debating was a smokescreen, their thing, a code that only they deciphered.
True, since Nicole’s teaming up with Brett as his deputy, many times she had been forced to contend with his quirky and pushy personality, yet, she was positive that his heart was in the right place.
But regardless of the place his heart was, his personality sometimes if not most of the time got on her nerves. Moreover, they both understood that though their contradicting headstrong personalities was the reason they made a perfect investigative team, it was also the reason why they could never be attracted to each other.

* * *

Nicole was glad for having made the trip instead of just calling. Jordin Stevenworth’s office was something remarkable and from the moment she set foot in the office, she fell in love with it. It was lush and prettified with a range of decorative ingredients including expensive portraits on the walls, lustrous trophies, a richly textured and beautifully patterned red carpet, and a leather sofa where her patients gave vent to their demons.

If the money used to spruce up the office had come from Jordin’s own pocket, then her practice was on a roll.
“Hi, I’m Jordin but I guess you already know,” she said standing to extend her hand.
“Nicole Anderson, FBI,” she replied with a smile, extending her hand for the handshake.
“Make yourself comfortable Nicole,” Jordin smiled back as she sat.
“Thanks. You have a very nice office. Must’ve cost you a fortune, right?” She asked sitting but her eyes still roving about, admiring the office.
“A friend chipped in, couldn’t afford it on my own. So what brings you around?” Jordin asked as the warm smile on her face faded instantly.
“I came to talk to you about one of your patients.”
“Which one?”
“Brooke Woodley.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Jordin asked with a surprised look.
“Her issues,” Nicole replied crossing her legs.
“You mean her medical issues?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Sorry, my hands are tied by doctor-patient confidentiality,” Jordin shrugged her shoulders.
“I know all about that, but I’m still asking,” Nicole replied empathically.
“And why is the FBI suddenly concerned with Brooke’s psyche anyway?” Jordin asked flippantly.
“Because she was killed last evening and I need to find out who killed her,” Nicole answered quickly in similar manner and tone.
“Oh no! How?”
Jordin was shocked and Nicole gave her a few seconds to process before responding, “Shot at her house.”
Tears glistened in Jordin’s eyes, and for the following few seconds, she remained too stunned to utter a word.
Nicole had over estimated the doctor’s shock absorbers. She had assumed because Jordin was a doctor, she was used to bad news – no, not used to bad news – immune to bad news, yeah that’s the word - immune. She’d been wrong.
“Our relationship was more than doctor-patient, you know? We bonded and became friends,” Jordin said pulling out a handkerchief from her purse.
“I’m really sorry, Jordin. I didn’t realize you two were so close,” Nicole let a second skip before adding, “but you need to tell me if she mentioned anyone she was scared of.”
“No, she didn’t mention anyone she was scared of,” Jordin answered with a pitiful face.
“What about any random name, not necessarily that she must have been scared of the person,” Nicole asked softly.
“No one other than her husband.”
“Her husband? What about her husband?”
“Nothing alarming. She was just concerned that he was drifting away, like he didn’t love her anymore, you know - the usual marital insecurities.”
“That’s all she ever talked about?”
“Yeah, how he’d grown so secretive, always finding excuses to be far from her; work, hanging out with his boys, going to watch a game, that kind of stuff. She didn’t know why it was happening or what it meant.”
Nicole looked her straight in the eye as she asked, “Was he cheating on her?”
“I don’t know...” Jordin looked away, attempting to avoid the topic but it was so evident.
“If you know something Jordin; you need to tell me, no matter how trivial you think it is,” Nicole said softly but firmly. Jordin took a deep breath then answered, “Robin Ironside.”
“Who’s Robin Ironside?”
“His Ex.”
“Did the two of them ever have an altercation?”
“No, not according to my knowledge. You think Robin Ironside did it?” Jordin almost whispered.
“Let me worry about that. I’m going to leave you with my card, just in case you remember anything,” Nicole said getting to her feet.
“Sure.”
Nicole handed Jordin her business card, said some reassuring words, then left. As Brett hunted for the husband, Nicole would start hunting for Robin Ironside – the other woman in Trey’s life.

* * *

“Feds have started asking questions Brooke Woodley.”
“And?”
“I told them nothing.”


3


It was the morning after his wife’s murder and Trey Woodley was at a gas station paying for gas after having spent the night at a motel. He got into his car and blasted away in a hurry. He was so late. He had intended to be up by 7, but it was already 9:15.

After having had a hectic nine-to-five on the previous day, plus an arduous six-hour non-stop drive from LA, his body had simply rejected being pushed further and so he’d overslept. Of course he had had the easier option of flying to LA, but he knew it would have made things much easier for them - that is; the people after Robin Ironside’s life, to track Robin and him. Therefore for the sake of remaining off the grid, he’d been forced to use his car, that way his whereabouts would be a wild guess.

He hoped the morning would be different from the previous morning that saw things get a little heated between him and his wife. As he drove, a flashback of his fight with his wife the previous morning ran through his mind:
“What else do you want me to say? I was working,” still staring in the mirror on the wall in the kitchen hallway tightening his tie, Brett had lashed out at his wife.
“Yeah, right!” Brooke had hit back instantly.
“And what is that supposed to mean, Brooke?” He had asked as he turned to start walking into the kitchen.
“It’s supposed to mean you’re lying, because I called your phone and it was off, so I called your office and they told me you’d already left,” she had stopped arranging cups in the dishwasher to look at him as he entered the kitchen.
Totally pissed and with only a few inches parting the two of them he hit out, “What are you, my supervisor or my wife? I was working out of the office.”
“And what exactly were you working on out of your office, huh? You think I’m dumb? Let me tell you something fella, I know your job description, and all your duties are done in the office behind a desk,” like a CSI interrogator, she had kept pushing and pushing some more, and the man had neared his breaking point.
“Here’s the thing, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, I don’t have the energy for this,” Brett had said as he turned away heading to the kitchen door.
“It’s Robin Ironside, isn’t it?” Brooke had asked softly.
Instantly, he stopped turned, then asked,” Where does she come into this?”
“You’re not exactly denying it,” she had responded calmly.
“I haven’t seen or even spoken to Robin for the past one year,” still standing at the kitchen door, Trey replied quickly.
“You see the way you say her name? It says a lot…” Angrily, Brooke turned to the dishwasher and began rearranging the cups.
Brett made a step into the kitchen then asked, “Seriously Brooke, what’s wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with me?” Brooke retorted angrily banging a glass before she proceeded to yell, “There’s nothing wrong with me. The problem is you Trey.”
“Me?” In frustration Trey raised his voice too.
“Yes you and your secrets. In case you’ve forgotten we’re married Trey and married people don’t have secrets,” Brooke’s voice went a notch higher.
“And have you forgotten the part where married people actually trust each other?” Trey hit back angrily then turned and started walking away.
“Dinner’s at seven!” Brooke hollered just before he exited through the front door. That previous morning, he had left the house with a new appreciation for why he was paying for Brooke to see a shrink – her insecurity was her disease.

* * *

The Wilshire Federal Building had an expansive open office with many desks. It was also Brett’s playground, where he played his favorite game – hunting criminals. Fifteen hours had passed since 7:15pm of the previous night when Brooke’s murder had occurred with no sign of the ‘loving husband,’ and as more time passed Brett’s conviction that Trey Woodley was guilty intensified.
“I think I found something,” said a younger man in late twenties with rough unkempt hair, seeing through big horn-rimmed glasses, holding out a computer print out.
“What is it Jack?” Brett asked turning to look in Jack’s direction.
“Credit card payment.”
“Where?” Brett quickly asked.
“Between San Ramon and Danville.”
“Where?”
“Near San Francisco.”
“For?”
“Gas.
“Name of the gas station?”
“Quick Fill.”
“Time?”
“9:16 this morning.”
“Good work. Now get me the nearest traffic camera,” then, spinning in a chair, he called out, “Shirley?”
“I’m still right here Brett,” she shouted back.
“What car does he drive?”
“I’m on it!”
Finally, everything was falling into place. It was only a matter of time before the game was over for the elusive sole murder suspect.
“Got one camera, 10 meters from the gas station,” Jack said quickly and excitedly.
“Zoom in and rewind the time stamp to…how long do you take to gas up?” Brett asked Jack.
“When in a hurry or normal…”
“This’ not the time to be a jerk, Jack,” Brett retorted
“Two to five minutes…”
“Then rewind it to 9:11, then play,” then turning his head towards Shirley he said, “The suspense is killing me, Shirley.”
“A dark-green Ford Explorer,” Shirley replied promptly.
“That’s it!”
Jack who was keyed up exclaimed immediately Shirley identified the car.
“What is?”
“A Ford Explorer pulling into the gas station at 9:12.”
“Go on, play it a little longer, we need to get a positive ID that the driver is our murderer.”
As Jack played the footage on his computer, it simultaneously showed on a humongous monitor hanging on the wall. Everyone’s eyes were glued to it, keen to get a glimpse of the driver and excited about the action.
“There! Freeze it there,” Brett emphasized as he shot to his feet then added after a couple of seconds, “Good work everybody, I think we’ve tracked our killer. Now that we have the visual confirmation, Shirley would you please charm us and locate his car.
Feeling good about herself, Shirley engaged her keyboard, feeding the vehicle registration details and crosschecking the numerous vehicles on Danville Broadway until she isolated the dark-green SUV.
“He’s on Danville Broadway, heading north and flying low...”
“And what did you expect?” Jack interrupted Shirley and added, “Of course he has to speed, he’s running, that’s why we’re here chasing him.”
“And who’s talking to you Weirdo?” Shirley shot back.
“Cut it out you two, we don’t have time for cat fights. Keep your eyes on him. Don’t lose him, Shirley. Jack, get the San Francisco highway patrol on stand by.”
“Brett?” Shirley called out suddenly concerned.
“Yeah?”
“He’s indicating… now branching from Danville Broadway and taking 1425 Main Street. What’s his game plan?”
“He can’t be making another stop; it’s too soon for somebody on the run,” Brett said meditatively staring at the big screen.
“So what’s happening?” Shirley quickly asked Brett.
“He’s either approaching his final destination or he wants to ditch the car. He’s a killer but not a moron. By now he expects we’re hard on our heels after him.”
“So how are we gonna stop him?”
“That’s the fun part sweetheart. How far’s the next junction?”
“I’d say eight minutes give or take from where he is now.”
“Jack,” Brett called out and when Jack turned; he ordered, “Do it now.”
In a flash, Jack was on the phone with the San Francisco highway patrol.
“The officer is on the line for you,” said the woman from the San Francisco highway patrol switchboard.
“We need your help stopping a dark-green Ford Explorer on 1425 Main Street heading towards Kaiser Foundation Hospital. The suspect might be armed and dangerous. Our guess is, you have about four minutes to intercept him.”


4

From a distance, he saw a police car parked by the roadside and as he drew closer, the clearer things became.

The officer was slowly moving to the middle of the road with his gun drawn. Eventually, the officer stood in the middle of the highway. Only one turn and Trey would have reached the end of his destination.

Slowly, the officer began raising his gun and aiming it in the direction of the oncoming dark-green Ford.

By the time Trey Woodley wrapped his head around the fact that he was a moving target and slammed his foot on the brake pedal, he was in the line of shot.

As soon as the SUV had come to a stop, the police officer was already at the driver’s open window pressing the gun barrel in his ear.

Baffled, Trey quickly said, “Take it easy officer! There must be some kind of a mistake.”
“Switch off the engine and do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand me?” The officer ordered with a stern face.
“Okay,” Trey replied quickly killing the engine.
“Now slowly, put your hands on top of your head. I repeat, slowly.”
Trey obliged.
“Officer I’m telling you...”
“Step out of the car. Real slowly,” The officer ordered, opening the door for him with his left hand. Trey stepped out of the car, and the officer pushed him hard against the car.
“Now put your hands behind your back.”

After doing as he’d been ordered, the police officer hurriedly handcuffed him.

* * *

Inside the austere interrogation room, Trey sat on a hard metal chair with his hands handcuffed behind him, replaying his previous day in his mind. He tried to pinpoint exactly what he could have done contrary to the law. It had to be a case of mistaken identity; a misunderstanding that would soon be clarified.

He needed to get back on the road.

Directly in front of him was a large opaque glass panel. He knew they were watching and strategizing on how to interrogate him – the traditional good-cop-bad-cop approach perhaps, but by taking their time to study him, they were wasting his time.
After being abandoned for close to forty minutes, the metallic door was eventually unlocked and a lean, stern-looking man entered and began staring at Trey as if reading his mind, trying to intimidate him.
“My name is Brett Dawson…”
Brett began.
“Could you please let me know what my charges are?” Trey asked innocently.
“You tell me,” Brett answered him pulling a chair to sit across the table..
“Please, if you don’t have any charges, let me go. I have an emergency to attend to.”
“Are you a fireman?”
“No,” Trey answered with a frown on his face not sure of where Brett was heading.
“What about a paramedic?”
“I’m not that either.”
“Sorry then, it looks like you’re stuck here with me,” Brett remarked dryly leaning forward to stare into Trey’s eyes. Afterwards, Brett leaned back to ask, “Out of curiosity, what emergency were you talking about?”
“Visiting somebody in the hospital. She just had an accident and she’s still in a critical condition.”
“Oh it’s a she!” Brett said sardonically before going on to ask, “And where is she admitted?”
“Kaiser Foundation Hospital.”
“What’s her name?”
“Robin Ironside.”
“What time did the accident occur?”
“I don’t know the exact time, but I got a call from the hospital at around 2 pm,” Trey answered with a tone of agitation in his voice.
“And what time did you start your journey?”
“Eightish, nine – I’m not sure.”
“And why didn’t you just fly to San Francisco instead of driving all the way, I know the shortest route can take you six hours , other routes can take you up to ten hours. You said it was an emergency right?”
It was a tricky question and Trey exhaled deeply before answering, “I have my reasons.”
“Well, I want to hear them, what are they?” Brett looked at him squarely; he knew there was something Trey was hiding.
“After she gets better, I will transfer her to a safe place where those who want to kill her can’t reach her. And to do that, I’ll need my car.”
Brett made a brief cynical laugh after Trey gave his reasons for driving. The reason was flimsy if not paranoiac at best.
“You say she was involved in an accident and now suddenly there are people wanting to kill her and you’re the only one who can protect her, is that what you’re saying here?”
“Yes,” Trey said affirmatively.
“You’re deluded, you know that?” Brett asked rhetorically before adding, “And how are you two related?”
Trey took his time before he answered, “We’re not, she is a close friend.”
“Oh, I see,” Brett said with another cynical smile and then, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table and fingers intertwined, asked in a slow soft tone, “Did you tell your wife you were going to see a friend?”
“No,” Trey replied as calmly as he could.
“No!” Brett feigned surprise then continued to ask in a loud voice, almost shouting, “So were you just gonna disappear without informing nobody? Didn’t you think your wife would worry?”
“What are you, a family therapist?” Trey returned fire with fire, certainly worked up.
He immediately got a grip of himself; he knew he’d just lost to Brett’s strategy. It was all part of the game. But he wasn’t going to give the man the satisfaction, so he continued in a low voice, “I meant to call her when I arrived. If it will make you any happier, I knew she wouldn’t approve of it.”
“So tell me, how are things between you two?” Brett asked softly.
“Great,” Trey said then paused for a bit before elaborating further, “I mean we’re doing fine.”
“I see.”
“So can I call her?” Trey challenged.
“But you already know that’s impossible, don’t you?” Brett challenged back as he got up.
Trey instantly leaned forward and asked, “Impossible?”
Trey was lost.
“You know she can’t pick up your call after what happened, don’t you?”
“What are you talking about, is she alright? What happened to her?” Trey asked with genuine concern, he had no idea.

Then unexpectedly, Brett banged the table with a fierce look on his face as he asked, “How can she be after you shot her, huh? So stop this nonsense about going to visit a friend. We’re gonna try this one more time, and this time, I don’t want to hear your emergency crap. You hear me? You’re gonna tell me exactly how you did it.”
“Brooke was…?” As Trey trailed off, Brett walked out of the room to brainstorm with Nicole who had been watching through the glass.

In the meantime, Trey could not believe what he had just heard. Brooke had been shot dead? By who? How? Why?

Heavy questions weighed on his conscience. Why had he left his wife home alone? Why didn’t he try to talk to her? Why hadn’t he at least just called?

His wife’s death was his fault.

But then again, what choice had he been left with? The hospital had called and informed him that Robin Ironside was in the Intensive Care Unit barely hanging on and he was listed as her only next of kin. And he knew there was absolutely no chance on earth that Brooke would have let him to go see Robin. And so he had been forced to play odds, to take a chance and it had cost him his dear wife.

No words could explain the rollercoaster of emotions circuiting in his mind.
Then, like an epiphany, it hit him. It dawned on him that he was as much a victim of circumstance as Robin and Brooke. He hadn’t requested to be listed as Robin’s next of kin, no, it just happened that he was. He hadn’t planned a long overnight trip and purposely left his wife alone and vulnerable, but you know what – it just happened.

And now he was the punching bag, the fall guy, the culprit… the villain facing execution, or if circumstance earned him a lenient judge, a life sentence in a filthy maximum security penitentiary.

So for the time being, he needed to put all the guilt aside and be selfish. He needed to focus on him and himself only. After all, these two – Robin and Brooke – were to blame for his predicament.

First, Robin had enlisted him as her only next of kin without his consent, then gotten involved in an accident, forcing him to travel all the way to Kaiser Foundation Hospital to be her next of kin.

The other person he blamed was Brooke. Brooke had just been too insecure. Despite the fact that he’d chosen her over Robin, she still hadn’t given up interrogating him. And that was why he’d traveled all the way to San Francisco without telling her. That had been the reason he’d left her alone.

Did it mean that he was a mean cold and hardhearted person? No, those were simply the facts.

In spite of that, he still cared for both women and he feared that the way he had lost his life partner, he was on the brink of loosing his long time friend Robin Ironside.
Outside the interrogation room, Nicole and Brett were watching as Trey crumpled under the enormous psychological burden.
“Do you think I got to him?” Brett turned to look at Nicole who was still watching Trey through the glass.
“You realize you have absolutely nothing on him right?” Nicole turned to Brett as she answered.
“I know, but what do you think when you look at him.”
“Fifty fifty, it’s still too early to tell,” Nicole turned back to continue staring at Trey through the glass.
“In that case you know we can’t hold him. But before we release him, grab an agent, dash to the hospital and find out if his responding-to-an-emergency story holds any water. If indeed the friend is there, verify that they’re reading from the same script. We couldn’t have flown a whole hour all the way here for nothing. I know he drove all the six hours here for something. Go dig.”
“What will you be doing as I dig?” Nicole asked still staring at Trey through the glass.
“In the meantime, I’m gonna have Jack and Shirley look into the supposed 2pm call he received from the hospital.”

Due to the fact that the Los Angeles Field office had jurisdiction over seven counties in California including San Francisco, Brett had taken along his sidekick Nicole and flown to San Francisco and continued to keep the investigation in-house by liaising with his two favorite geeks Jack and Shirley, and only sharing smidgens of information about the investigation with his San Francisco counterparts on a need-to-know basis.
But as it was turning out, Trey was clean or legally speaking, they had no evidence against him unless they found something. And that is what Nicole had been sent to dig for – something incriminating.


5


Kaiser Foundation Hospital was a big hospital. The two detectives Nicole and her new partner Charles Roily whose main task had been to drive Nicole to the hospital instead of Nicole wasting time trying to figure out the location by herself, were in the reception lobby waiting for the head nurse. After inquiring about Robin Ironside, they’d been asked to wait.

“I’m Marline, head nurse. How may I help you?” A tall stout woman in her fifties asked authoritatively.
“Nicole Anderson,” then turning to Charles, “Charles Roily, FBI. We want to see a patient admitted here yesterday by the name Robin Ironside,” Nicole answered standing up.
“I’m sorry; she’s still in the ICU and needs plenty of rest right now. I’m afraid your questions are going to have to wait,” Marline answered with finality.
“You’ve seen her?” Nicole asked curiously.
“Yeah. We had a problem trying to find out who to call, but eventually we got a name from her purse that was retrieved from the wreck just before it was towed to Bronzy.”
“I see. Marline, we just want to confirm that she’s been admitted here. There are rumors that she didn’t survive and we just want to verify that she did. No questions, I promise…”
“Who’s spreading those rumors?” She asked rather furiously.
The truth was no one was spreading any rumors; Nicole just wanted to dig as instructed by Brett. They had nothing on Trey and so they needed to find something or at least figure out why he had drove all the way to see Robin Ironside. Trey had hinted that someone was seeking Robin’s life; they had to find out if there was some true to the allegation.
“Sorry, I can’t tell you that,” Nicole looked Marline in the eye as she firmly replied.
“Fine, but if you try waking her, I’ll kick you out. Follow me,” she said and started walking.

The head nurse navigated the hallways until they got to a door. Marline paused and briefly stared at them before pushing the door. It was an unspoken warning not to make noise. Slowly and quietly, they walked to Robin’s bed.

Nicole stepped an inch closer to the bed to take a closer look at Ironside. The first time she’d heard of Ironside was in Jordin’s office, the woman Brooke had suspected to be wrecking her marriage. Immediately, she had wanted to meet Robin Ironside. The second time she heard of her was in the interrogation room, when Brett was giving his alibi, and again she wanted to meet the mysterious woman.

At first glance, the comatose ICU patient didn’t live up to her name. She looked frail; her left eye lid was swollen, her head had been over-bandaged such that she resembled a Jamaican Rastafarian woman, her right arm had been plastered, and her nostrils had been invaded by IV tubes.

But looks can be deceiving.

All that time Marline had been watching Nicole watch Robin Ironside, without a word. Eventually, Nicole turned to Marline and nodded.

As she walked towards the glass paned exit door, Nicole noticed a melancholic, somber-looking teenage girl staring right back at her through the glass. It seemed as if the girl had been standing there watching them watching over the patient. The girl did not shy away, not for a second, until Nicole reached the door and pushed gently. She stepped back with her eyes still locked on Nicole.

She had bloodshot eyes, fresh tear marks on her face, bulging veins on her temples and forehead, and her sniffling expounded her sadness.
Nicole cautiously opened the door and smiled warmly but the girl didn’t even attempt to smile back.

“Hey,” Nicole said lightly, leaning toward her. The girl tried to say something back but words just wouldn’t come out.
“Robin’s daughter,” Marline told her.
“Yeah, I guessed,” she said over the girl’s shoulder. Then she looked down at the girl to tell her, “I’m Nicole and I’m with the FBI. The doctors are doing everything they can for your mom, you shouldn’t lose hope,” she said thoughtfully and with heartfelt concern. The girl nodded.
“What’s your name?” Nicole asked.
“Audrey,” she said softly.
“I know this is a very difficult time for you Audrey, but I would really like to talk about your mom. Is it okay with you?” Nicole asked gently.
“But she already talked to the cops, wasn’t that enough? I mean, you could ask the cops what she told them, right?” Marline interjected with a serious face, trying to shield Audrey from having to go through the gruesome experience. She had a point and Nicole knew it.
“Yeah, you’re right. But perhaps Audrey has remembered something else right now that might be critical,” Nicole answered tactfully and respectfully as she looked at the head nurse before pausing and turning to Audrey to tell her, “I’ll only ask if you agree.”
Audrey nodded a yes and the head nurse immediately excused herself.
Though Nicole was about to start asking Audrey some questions, she genuinely thought the trip had been a waste of time, since there had been no indication that Robin was anything other than an old fling that had got involved in a badly timed accident, but she knew better than to question Brett.
“I know you’re worried about your mom, but I’m afraid I have to ask you about your mom and what happened to her.”
“Okay,” Audrey answered pushing back strands of hair from her face with her right hand.
“Thank you. Were you with her when it happened?” Nicole asked gently.
“Yes,” Audrey answered meditatively staring into the air.
“Where were you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either. It was kinda abrupt, you know. It was as if we were running away or something,” Audrey looked at Nicole.
“Why do you say that?”
“She never hinted that we’d be going anywhere, and then she wouldn’t tell me where we were going. She didn’t even let me call my friends. It was so weird!”
Audrey looked away.
“So how did it happen – the journey I mean.”
“She picked me up from school.”
“Do you remember what time it was?”
“Around midday.”
“What did she tell you? Moms usually want their kids to stay in school, right?”
“She just told me to get my stuff and said she would explain everything in the car. She said she wouldn’t take me from school if it wasn’t important and I should trust her. She looked so scared,” Audrey looked at Nicole with a pitiful face.
“So, from school where did you go?” Nicole took her hand as she asked.
“Home, where she asked me to pack.”
“But you said she didn’t allow you to pack.”
“She told me to only take the most important things – that is according to her,” Audrey’s tone went up.
“I’m guessing, you must have been really mad. So how long did you take at home?”
“10 to 15 minutes.”
“Go on.”
“Then she dragged me to the car. When I refused to enter the car, she came to the passenger’s side, opened the door and ordered me to get in. I had no choice, so I got in and put on my safety belt. She got into the driver’s seat, tried to wear her safety belt, but it got stuck. So she just started the car and drove off without buckling up. In my entire life, I’ve never seen my mom drive without wearing a safety belt. That’s when I knew we were running.”
“And do you know what type your mom’s car is?”
“A silver Ford sedan.”
“Okay. What about the actual accident, anything you can remember?”
“Not much. I mean, I wasn’t paying any attention. I was still mad and listening to my iPod, looking outside most of the time. It just happened so fast, I can’t remember now. One minute, my mom is driving, the next minute, I’m hearing screeches, the car is overturning and rolling fast, we’re both screaming, then she goes silent…”
She trailed off. Re-living the gruesome ordeal brought pain to her face.
“If my mother dies, she’ll die thinking that I was mad at her, which I really wasn’t, I was just…”
This time, she completely broke down. The guilt was killing her. Nicole’s heart went out to her and she instantly hugged the whimpering teenager.
“Hey listen to me,” Nicole took both of her hands, “Your mom won’t die, she’s gonna be okay. You gotta hold on, don’t give up, okay?”
Audrey nodded and Nicole briefly hugged her before giving her a card.
“Take care okay?”
Audrey nodded and the two agents left.
“…we were running…” Audrey had said twice. It was a weighty statement. Running away from whom? Running to where? Was Trey right after all that someone wanted to kill Robin?
“You know the junkyard the nurse was talkin’ about?” she asked Charles as they got back in the car.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe there will be some clues on the vehicle. Take me to the junkyard.”


6


At the entrance of the quiet, fully stacked motor vehicle junkyard, was an erected metallic structure serving both as an office and a watchtower. Leaning on the railing was a skinny, tiny-headed, creepy looking man in his late twenties. He seemed high.
“Hello!” Nicole hollered at the skinny caretaker. He looked down on the two agents below.
“Hi to you,” he answered with little interest.
“FBI. We’re interested in a silver Ford sedan that was towed in yesterday.”
The caretaker gestured carelessly in the direction of the wreck. The two agents spotted the car and headed towards it.

The car had been severely bashed on its left side, from the front bumper, the fender, all the way up to the driver’s door. The interior of the wreckage said it all with deflated and blood spattered air bags.

Nicole tried pulling the driver’s door, but it wouldn’t budge. So, she leaned through the broken window to peer inside. Charles was getting dirty scrutinizing the underbelly of the once serviceable Ford Focus.

The front wheel assembly on the left side seemed older and rustier than the other three.
Just from its appearance, it looked odd. He wiggled to take a closer look. Then, he made a startling observation. The whole thing was a replacement. Even the bolts appeared older.
“Nicole?”
Charles called out.
“Yeah?”
“I think I found something.”
“What is it?” She asked quickly getting on her knees.
“I think one of the wheel assemblies was switched with an old one.”
“Show me,” she said eagerly, wriggling under the wreck as Charles pointed to the older bolts and the rusty parts. It was pretty evident that the wheel assembly had been replaced.
“What about the brakes?” Nicole asked after confirming that there was something fishy with the wheel assembly.
“Haven’t checked yet.”
“Check them out too. Good detective work,” Nicole said, writhing from under the wreck. Then a phrase from her conversation with Audrey flashed into her mind: “…it got stuck.”
She had to try out the driver’s safety belt.
Once she got on her feet, she leaned through the window, pulled the belt and tried to clip it and - bingo! The clip had been unscrewed.
Underneath the wreck, Charles noticed that the brake lines had been tampered with as well. She had driven with very weak brakes.
“Charles?” Nicole called out.
“Yes?”
“Come see this.”
“See what?” Charles asked getting out from under the wreck.
“Look!” She exclaimed pointing to the unscrewed belt clip.
“I don’t believe this!” Charles was taken aback before going on to ask,” The clip was compromised? There’s no way a driver in such a hurry would have stopped to fix it.”
“Do you remember what Audrey said about the belt?”
“Yeah, but she said it got stuck, not that the clip didn’t clip.”
“But she also said she’d been fighting with her mother, and so she wasn’t paying close attention to her mother’s driving. It doesn’t matter if the belt got stuck or if it failed to clip. What she remembers is, her mother didn’t buckle up.”
“The brakes have been messed up too.”
“I think all of this was done during the time Robin and her daughter were inside the house parking,” Nicole said running her fingers through her hair.
“So, the front left wheel assembly had been replaced with an old rusty one, the safety belt had been compromised and she drove with weakened brakes?”
“You’re thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“Yeah, someone wanted her dead.”
“The question is: who and why?”


7


First things first. Brett had to let Trey go; he had no basis for detaining him any longer.
“I’ve got good news for you,” Brett said, walking in to the room.
“Is that right?” Trey answered warily.
“You’re free to go,” Brett paused before adding, “For now.”
For now was good enough for Trey, considering the alternative. He had so much to do in very little time. All he wanted was to get out of that holding room. After taking off the handcuffs, Brett told the widower, almost as an afterthought, “Sorry for your loss.”
After a while Brett’s phone rang when he was in the hallway. He took it out and saw that it was Nicole calling and so he answered right away.
“Why have you been so quiet?” He asked dipping into his pocket.
“Just digging, you do remember you asked me to do that, right?”
“Fill me in,” Brett said gently tapping on the wall with his shoe.
“He’s not lying about Robin. She’s in ICU.”
“And so where’ve you been?”
“I went to the junkyard to check out the wreckage.”
“And?” He added quickly.
“The accident wasn’t an accident.”
“Why?” He asked with his head leaning down.
“On one of the wheels, the parts had been replaced with old ones, the brakes were kaput and here comes the killer…”
“Surprise me,” he immediately looked up.
“The safety belt clip – you know the one that locks the strap?”
“Yeah?”
“It had been removed.”
“Removed?” He stressed.
“Yes.”
“So right now we’d be looking at two interrelated homicides?”
“Aha.”
“Come back so we can figure this out,” he said starting to walk.
“Or in other words you miss me?” She joked.
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said then hung up.

* * *

After the two federal agents had left the junkyard, the caretaker picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. The phone rang twice before being picked up. He could hear raspy breathing on the other side as the man quickly asked, “What is it?”
“We have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The feds have just left.”
“How was the car?”
“Still raw.”

* * *

Brett was wracking his brain trying to put things together. Brooke’s murder hadn’t just been a murder. It was something bigger – a puzzle. And Robin’s accident hadn’t been an accident, either. In fact, the accident was a whole new ball game. But who were the players? What were the rules of the game? Who was refereeing? And most importantly – what was Brett and Nicole’s role in the game? How would the game end – in more deaths? If so, Brett hoped it wouldn’t be them.

* * *

Unlike Brett and Nicole, Trey was well aware of the meaning of what had just happened. He also knew what would happen if he didn’t act quickly. The demise of his wife on the day he’d left town was no coincidence. In fact, he’d always lived in expectation of it. “How did I not see it coming?” He berated himself. He swore it wouldn’t happen again.

But Robin didn’t have much time. In a matter of hours, they’d pay the hospital a visit to finish her off. That’s how the game was supposed to end – with Ironside dead.

All best players always have a game plan, but they can never be prepared for everything. Trey’s plan was to become the unprecedented thing that would change everything.

With his wife already sacrificed and the other woman in his life next on the line, Trey’s gloves were coming off and his A-game coming on. Things were about to get messy, and he was determined to frustrate the other players, go against the standard rules of the game and literally shake the chessboard, until he changed the end game.


8


After parking the car, Trey entered Kaiser Foundation Hospital in a frantic hurry before pausing at the reception counter, where he was directed to Robin’s room.

Glancing across as he plowed through the hallways, his eyes spotted Audrey who immediately ran to him as if he was Clark Kent arriving to protect her mother from harm.

The past hours of worry and crying made the thirteen year-old look so doleful. But everything was going to be alright. Trey leaned forward, opened his arms and waited for Audrey to sink into his arms with a hungry hug. He then held her for a while.
“Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise.”
He whispered with assurance as if he was the cure for her mother’s problems. When they were done hugging, she grabbed his hand and led him to her mother.
When they got to Robin’s bed, he just stood there motionless. It was too much to take in one day.

Barely a day had elapsed since his wife’s kicking the bucket, he’d just been bluntly briefed about her death a few hours ago and as if that wasn’t enough, he was staring at Robin, knocked out with a full-load cocktail of sedatives.

To add pepper to injury, he knew it was just a matter of time.
He couldn’t take it any longer in the room. He glanced at Audrey; she was close to tears and so he grabbed her hand and led her out.

* * *

In the meantime, Nicole was back from her goose chase. As expected, Brett was thirsting for more details.
“How is she?”
They were both standing in the hallway.
“Deep in the woods.”
“You think the two cases are related?”
“Not sure but most likely,” she answered crossing her arms across her chest.
“Photos…of the wreckage? You know we need them, right?”
“Shoot!” She said looking up to the ceiling.
“Nicole!”
“I’m sorry,” she tried to apologize.
How could you forget?” He lamented.
“I said I’m sorry.”
“If it’s a conspiracy as you claim, we have no choice but to go back for them. How many guys did you find?”
“One…guy.”
Sometimes Brett thought she did some things just to frustrate him. Disappointed, Brett started walking, heading to the elevator without a word. But with a smile, Nicole asked, “Can I come…I know the way…” Then, she hunched her shoulders as she said, “It could save you hours trying to locate the place…”
Brett just stopped and sighed without turning to look at her. In other words or in the Brett-Nicole code language he was saying: “Hurry up then.” And just like that, the lead detective and his deputy were back on the road to take pictures.
No sooner had they parked their car, a man stepped out of the erect office and leaned on the railing to watch the two approaching detectives.
“Something is not right,” Nicole said with her eyes roving about.
“What are you talking about?” Brett asked turning to her. They were just about to take the staircase.
“See that guy gawking at us?” She asked gesturing with her head.
“Yeah – he’s not skinny, is he?” Brett asked taking his first step on the staircase.
“Welcome,” the burly man said with a smile.
“Thank you,” Brett replied.
“And how may I help you two. You need some towing assistance?”
“No, we’re FBI and my partner was here about an hour ago. Were you here?”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Do you work shifts during the day?”
“No.”
“I see,” Brett nodded before continuing with the question, “So where’s the person who was here?”
“No one was here...” The man replied with a light laugh.
“What do you mean no one was here?” Nicole cut him short and continuing, “A slim man was here.”
“Sorry ma’am, as I said, I wasn’t here, and I can’t account for the time that I wasn’t here.”
“You’re lying!” Nicole snapped.
“I’m lying?” He asked poking his chest with his index finger. He was offended.
“Yes,” Nicole stood her ground. The man sighed then asked, “What do you want me to do - guess names?”
“Starting with yours,” Brett joined in, taking out a small note book and a pen to jot down the names. The man sighed then said his name.
“John Crowley.”
“Any person, perhaps a friend, who could have been in your office when you were not around?”
Brett continued probing the caretaker.
“May be my buddy Ted, but I must emphasize, I’m speculating.”
“I’m intrigued – do you usually just leave this place open like that?” Brett asked with a mocking smile.
“We’re usually three, so somebody’s always here.”
“And where’re the other guys?”
“Sam called in sick today…”
“Sam who?”
“Sam Therizion.”
“And Ted is Ted who?”
“Goblet.”
“Go on.”
“Peter McGill is attending a court hearing.”
“You’ve not told us why you had to leave.”
“Coffee – you need the name of the diner too?”
“Coffee for one hour, huh?” Nicole chipped in with a smirk on her face as. The man remained reticent.
“Where’s the wreck?”
“Why don’t you ask your Miss Know-it-all here, she seems to know everything,” the caretaker retorted and began walking into the tiny office.
Nicole was the first to descend the steps.
The wreckage was still in the same spot Nicole had left it over an hour ago. As they approached it, Brett took out a digital camera and said, “Show me the conspiracy.”
“We start with the front left wheel. You’ll see it’s older than the other three. Got a flashlight or something we can use for lighting?”
“My phone will give us some light,” Brett said kneeling on the left side of the car.
“Some light now please,” Nicole said writhing on her back under the wreckage.
“Something’s not right. It was…”
“Are you sure the parts were old and rusty? I mean it could have been poor illumination…”
“No Brett – I’m sure,” she replied immediately and emphatically.
“What about the brakes, you said they’d been compromised.”
Nicole turned the light from the phone to the brake lines. None of the brake lines hung loose. She waggled from under the wreck.
“Check the safety belt,” she said after they both got on their feet. Brett leaned through the broken driver’s window and tried clipping the seat belt. To Nicole’s bewilderment it clipped and held properly. They were both nonplussed. What could they say – there was nothing to be photographed.
“Every trace of foul play has been wiped out,” Nicole said.
“Do you think Trey was telling the truth when he said someone wanted to kill Robin?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But we can ask him right?”
“If we can be able to get him.”
With a frown on her face, Nicole turned to Brett to ask, “You released him?”
“You told me I had nothing on him, right?”
Nicole sighed loudly then remained quiet for a few seconds before asking, “So what do we do, now that the only person who could have shed some light on this mystery is no longer in our custody and getting him in time will be next to impossible.”
“So we go back to where it all started.”
“Brooke Woodley?”
“Yes, she’s the key.”


9


Seated in the back seat of Trey’s dark-green SUV looking at her, he told Audrey, “You were so fortunate to survive the accident unharmed.”
“It’s funny,” Audrey said then looked outside the window.
“What’s funny?” Trey asked curiously.
“Why I wasn’t hurt,” she turned to look at him.
“I don’t get it.”
“I didn’t wanna do it yesterday, but she made me and it saved my life.”
“And what is that?”
“I buckled up. I guess it made the difference.”
“What! Your mom didn’t strap up?” Trey asked, visibly startled. Robin was the most safety conscious driver he knew.
“She tried to, but her seat belt got stuck, so she...”
“Wait, her seat belt got stuck?” Surprised, Brett had to restrain himself from shouting.
“Strange right?”
Brett sighed and took his time before asking, “Was it the first time you ever saw it jam?”
“Yeah.”
“And where were you going?”
“I don’t know. She never told me. She picked me up from school, rushed me home and in no time we were on the road.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. She was so weird, you know. It was as if we were running.”
“Anything specific that makes you say that?”
“All she kept saying was ‘hurry up, pack up your things, we don’t have much time…’”
“Anything else, you know – things like your mom being overly worried, changing door locks, you get the idea, right?”
“I can’t really say that she’d been acting strange before yesterday.”
“I need you to be sure Audrey.”
“I don’t remember anything, really,” she emphasized just before remembering something, “Maybe...”
“Go on.”
“Once, about a week ago, when I returned from school and turned on the answering machine, there was this strange message from...”
“From who Audrey?”
“A man... kinda old.”
“What was the message, threats?”
“No. He was kinda warning my mom.”
“Do you remember what he said?”
“Not exactly. It was something like, “…they’re dangerous, be careful,” that’s all I can remember.”
“What about his name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try Audrey, try,” he said softly but emphatically.
“I’m not sure; Gramps, Grands, Greg...I don’t know okay?” The frustration on Audrey’s face was evident.
“Hey, it’s okay, you’ve done great. Come here.”
Trey pulled her closer to him and hugged her as he told her, “We need to go somewhere so you can to freshen up and rest a little.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“It’ll just be for a short while I promise.”
“No Trey.”
“Yes. You know your mom would want you to rest. And plus we don’t want her to feel guilty when she wakes up and finds out you haven’t showered or slept because you were too worried.”
Angrily, Audrey turned away to look outside.
“Audrey?” Trey called her name gently.
Audrey nodded after a while.
“Good. Now just give me a moment to send an email.”
He grabbed his laptop and googled: exilio.com. A page immediately came up and he clicked on the Services. A services page came on, but he wasn’t interested in any. He scrolled down to the bottom of the page and clicked on a link titled Other. A blank page with a blinking cursor came and he typed UC- 2567340/2011 then hit Enter. Afterwards, he signed off and shut down the laptop.
Trey put on his seat belt and sunglasses and when he was just about to turn the ignition key, his cell phone rang.
“Yes Rendell,” it was his attorney calling at a bad time.
“Hey, I’m sorry about Brooke,” he said sympathetically.
“Me too... look Rendell, I have a lot on my mind right now…”
“Sure, I understand. I’m calling to talk about Brooke’s will. She…”
“I have a lot on my plate; I can’t talk about that now…” Trey hung up and drove off.


10


It was the third day after Brooke’s murder and still, Brett did not have even the slightest clue of the shooter. Instead of rounding up more suspects, he’d released his only suspect on the previous day.

And now, things had gotten a little more intricate. In his quest, he had unveiled a cover up which indicated that, whoever was behind the shooting had connections, resources and was adept at detective work.

Most likely, it wasn’t just one person, it had the feel of something larger, like a network.

Brett had to rethink his steps and go back to the drawing board, to the basics; go back to Brooke’s body and disrupt whatever whizzo plan was going on. Otherwise, they would continue being a step ahead.

But who were they? And why the cover ups? What were they hiding?
Since the day of the shooting, he had not had a chance to examine the body himself. It was time for him to take a scrupulous look at Brooke’s body. Not that he was second guessing the coroner’s findings, no, it was just a gut feeling that the body had more to offer in terms of leads.

The overly bearded, forty-something nerdy coroner was in scrubs busy dissecting a body on the bench. He did not hear Brett entering.
“Hi Rashid,” Brett’s voice interrupted the quietude of the laboratory.
Startled, he responded, “I warned you not to be sneaking up on me like that, I could cut myself,” then turning back to the body he was dissecting he arrogantly asked, “What d’you want?”
“Brooke Woodley.”
“Can’t help you with that,” he responded flatly as he went on cutting up the body.
“I’m here to look at the body, not for your help Rashid. Now where is it?” Brett stepped closer to Rashid.
“Farewell,” Rashid answered not bothering to look at Brett standing next to him.
“And what might that be Rashid?”
“A morgue – dummy,” Rashid stopped dissecting to look at Brett as he went on, “I thought detectives were supposed to be smarter than that.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“What time?”
Rashid exhaled then answered, “As soon as I was done with it. Look, are you interrogating me now?”
Brett ignored the question and asked, “And why did you release the body without checking with me? You knew I was still investigating the case.”
“You want us to go down that road? Why didn’t you say something after reading the autopsy report on your desk yesterday morning? My guess is you were satisfied with it and so was I. I didn’t see the need to hold on to the body especially when a grieving family was on my neck,” Rashid’s voice was up.
“Wait, the family asked for the body?” A frown formed on Brett’s face.
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“It can’t be! The last time I checked, I was hunting down the husband in San Francisco.”
“Then you released the husband and when you did that, he called his lawyer who claimed the body on his behalf. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got lots of dead bodies that need me. Either you grab a scalpel and help me sever them, or beat it,” Rashid lashed out turning back to the body he had began cutting up.

The sudden twist in the still unfolding mystery threw him off. The sole reason he’d come to check out the body was to center his investigation on Brooke. But as it had turned out, Trey was still very much in the picture.

It wasn’t Trey’s asking his attorney to claim the body that raised his eyebrows; it was the alacrity with which the body was taken from the FBI that was unsettling. It was as if that body had something – clues, hints, or evidence that Rashid had missed during the autopsy – that Trey was determined to hide.

Brett left Nicole in the office with the assignment of looking into the four names they’d gotten from the arrogant junkyard caretaker, starting with the caretaker’s own name - John Crowley, then his friend that he surmised might have been at the junkyard when Nicole and Charles made their first visit - Ted Goblet, then his colleagues Sam Therizion who was attending a court hearing and Peter McGill who had called in sick.

Getting to Farewell Funeral Home was quick, and after parking his black Ford Avalanche, Brett flashed his badge after reaching the morgue’s reception desk. A middle aged lady was at the desk.
“How can I be of service?” She asked with a nice smile.
“I’m looking for a body,” he said returning his badge.
“Male or female?” She asked putting on her glasses.
“Female – Brooke Woodley, brought in yesterday.”
“Give me a minute to check,” she said turning to the computer. His eyes locked on her as a sudden frown formed on her face. She couldn’t believe her computer monitor.
“What? What’s wrong?” Brett asked anxiously.
“It seems...” she trailed off as if not believing what she was seeing on the computer screen.
“It seems what?” Brett’s voice went up.
“The body was taken yesterday evening; it didn’t even spend a night,” she looked up at him.
“What time and who took it?”
“6:30, the same person who brought it – Rendell Hernandez,” she answered after confirming on the computer.
“Were you on duty?”
“Yeah… “ She said slowly as a sudden frown formed on her face. Then she continued, “Oh, that’s right – I remember now, the body was picked up yesterday by the same man who dropped her off. She didn’t even spend a night.”
“Do you know where he took the body?” Brett asked urgently.
“As a matter a fact, I was paying attention because he seemed really nervous about something. I heard him talking on the phone about a crematorium but I don’t know where.”
“A crematorium?” Brett was stunned.
“Uh-hmm.”
“Thank you for your help.
“You’re welcome.”
What was happening? Everything was fast spinning out of control. He needed to find the attorney fast. Rendell Hernandez had some explaining to do.


11


Who was Rendell Hernandez? Was he just a family attorney or was he something more? He’d retrieved Brooke’s body from the FBI and cremated it, destroying evidence.
Smart move.

It would have been okay if Brooke’s death had been normal. According to Brett, the introduction of the Rendell-Hernandez-ingredient into the now formidable murder mystery suggested two things; he was either the shooter or the accomplice.
Having said that, Brett could now see a ray of hope through the dark tunnel of Brooke Woodley’s murder investigation.

He called Nicole asking for Rendell Hernandez’s address, which Nicole promptly texted him. Finally, he’d broken new ground.

* * *


Rendell Hernandez was in his office situated on Imperial Highway, Lynwood, Los Angeles, on the fourth floor of the Rosa building. His secretary was in his office handing him a dossier on a case and the case was to be the next thing on his to-do list after successfully handling the Brooke issue. Before she turned to go, the secretary informed him that a gentleman was waiting in the lobby.
“Does he have an appointment?” Rendell asked with his eyes engrossed in the dossier.
“It’s the government.”
He stopped perusing through the dossier to look up and say, “Send him in.”
Then, he took off his reading glasses and swung in his chair around, waiting for the man from the government. Almost immediately, the door opened and agent Brett Dawson walked in. Rendell studied him for about three seconds before beckoning him to take a seat.
“Are you by any chance related to the president?” He asked with a smile.
“Me! No, why?” Brett chuckled wondering, “Where’s this coming from?”
“You see, my secretary tells me, the government is here. So I assumed she’d seen the president himself or his brother, you know, someone who looks like the president.”
The joke earned a grin on Brett’s face and broke the ice between them.
“You should definitely get a new office assistant because as you can see, I’m not the president,” then he signed off the sentence lightly but seriously by saying, “Brett Dawson, FBI.”
“FBI! Should I be scared?” He smiled.
“Depends. Why did you claim Brooke’s body – did her husband ask you to take care of that?” Brett’s countenance changed to serious as he held his breath and hoped for a yes.
“No. I was just doing my job,” Rendell responded calmly.
“I don’t follow. How were you exactly doing your job if Brooke’s husband didn’t ask you to claim the body?”
“As Brooke’s attorney it was my duty to take care of her body in case her husband was not in a position to do so. And Trey wasn’t around so I did it.” Rendell said it so easily, so casually, as if he was proud of it.
“Okay fine. Where’s the body? I still need to run further tests on it.”
“Cremated,” Rendell answered with a straight face.
“You’ve already burned her?”
Brett couldn’t believe the guy, and the unmovable Rendell answered, “I’m afraid so.”
“And why on earth would you do that Rendell? Does the husband know?” Brett’s voice went up.
“No,” Rendell answered calmly.
“What! Are you crazy?” Brett asked twitching in his seat. He had never seen such an arrogant lawyer. How could he take the liberty of cremating someone’s wife without even checking with the husband first? Had he thought of the repercussions?
“Why would you even think of doing it in the first place?” Brett asked after composing himself.
“As I told you, just doing my job.”
“Just answer the question, ” Brett snapped.
“I was fulfilling Brooke’s wishes. She had a will.”
“To be cremated?”
“Yes.”
Brett sighed then stared at the lawyer for a few seconds before telling him, “Fine it was in her will, but couldn’t you at least wait for her husband?”
“The will was very specific. She wanted her cremation done within twenty four hours,” the attorney said leaning back in his chair.
“Help me out here, why would she want something like that done?”
“I asked but she didn’t tell me, sorry.”
“And you couldn’t wait just a few more hours?” Brett asked looking down.
“I’ve already told you, the will was very specific.”
Brett looked up to ask, “Can I see a copy?”
Rendell reached down and pulled out a brown sheet of paper from his desk drawer and shoved it across to him. It was a short, clear-cut, two paragraph, single page document. He had kept it close just in case. He was a lawyer, he had to be prepared. Brett read the will quietly as Rendell watched him. He knew he was covered.
After finishing, Brett looked up. The document seemed authentic. Brooke had signed on it in the presence of her lawyer, Rendell Hernandez. The signature dated only a week before her death. Surely, that was intriguing.
Was the whole will business another distraction? Or was it an extension of a colossal cover up? But a cover up of what?
“I still don’t believe it, it could just be a piece of paper with fake signatures,” Brett said shoving the will back to Rendell.
“Really?” Rendell asked rhetorically leaning to his left to pull out a drawer, took out a memory stick, and plugged it into his laptop. Then he opened a file in media player and turned the laptop to face Brett saying “Be my guest.”
Brett pulled the laptop closer to him and hit Enter. Shortly thereafter, he heard a voice, “My name is Brooke Nesbit Woodley. I’m making this recording to expunge all doubts that my wishes as stipulated in my will were my own decision. I’m providing my attorney and good friend Rendell Hernandez protection from litigation from those I consider dear to me, if he goes ahead and ensures my body is cremated within 24 hours following my death. To my beloved husband Trey Woodley, you made me very happy and I’m doing this because it would be unfair to burden you with this wish. I know you’d never deny me anything, but asking this would be asking too much. Please understand. I love you. Goodbye Trey.”

* * *

“…they’re dangerous, be careful…”
That phrase said it all. They were behind his wife’s death and they were also behind Robin’s accident. Thinking about his wife, Trey remembered that he needed to return to LA and commence funeral arrangements.

But that brought another Catch-22 predicament. Would he leave Robin in the lurch to return home to bury his dead wife? Or would he forget about Brooke and carry on with this mission impossible?

It was deja vu all over again.

He’d faced the same dilemma two years ago when he’d been obliged to choose between them. Robin had been fun and they connected. However, there was a but. The but had been Audrey. Choosing Robin meant taking the complete package.

On the other hand, Brooke was good to go in that respect. He would only be marrying Brooke, with no extras.

Back then, he had closed his eyes and tossed a coin - figuratively of course!
This time he knew better.

The previous day, Trey had managed to get two rooms in a decent motel close to the hospital. They had already taken their breakfast and Audrey was in the common room watching TV. He was just about to tell her something when his cell phone rang.
After glancing at the caller ID, he knew he couldn’t take the strange call in Audrey’s audience, so he excused himself and went back into his room.

As he closed the door behind him, Audrey’s phone rang too.

Inside his room, Trey was busy on the phone, “…what time?” He asked impatiently.
“No that’s too long. I can’t wait that long,” he said turning and then looking up to stare at the ceiling.
“Let me try in the next thirty,” said the voice on the phone.
“Call me in thirty, it’s urgent,” Trey responded.
“I’ll try my best, but no guarantees.”
The line went dead and Trey hung up and returned to the living room where Audrey wore a jovial face.
“What’s up, you had a bee-stung face when I left you, and now you look…happy?”
“Mom’s up,” she said excitedly walking to him with her arms spread in anticipation of a hug.
“Really!” He was excited too, “that’s good news! Wait, how did you know?” He asked still hugging her.
“The hospital called just a few minutes ago. We should go see her now.”
“You’re right about that.” Then letting go of her he said, “Let me grab my coat.”
Though Robin Ironside was up, Trey understood that the danger was far from over. Those seeking her soul were still out there scheming on how to take her out, and it was upon Trey to do something and do it as soon as possible.


12


Brett had left for Rendell’s office and Nicole was at her desk trying to figure out the next step. The investigation had turned out to be another quagmire with no leads. Her desk phone rang, it was the FBI reception desk calling.
“Nicole Anderson,” she answered casually after picking the call.
“Hi Nicole, there’s a Miss Judy Stoke here to see you,” Said the voice on the other end.
“A Miss who again?” Nicole asked with a brow on her face. She had never heard of that name before.
“Judy Stoke,” the caller hesitated a bit then added, “She says you met yesterday…?”
“Yesterday…?”
“Yes…at…Jordin Stevenworth’s office?”
“Is she the secretary?” Nicole asked brushing her left hand through her hair. The lady on the phone paused for a few seconds then answered, “Yes.”
“Oh, tell her to wait, I’m coming down,” she said then hurriedly banged the phone on the cradle.

* * *

Brett returned from Rendell’s office and found Nicole sitting in his chair. He smiled.
“What’s so funny?” She asked.
“You, trying to usurp power from me.”
“Not funny,” she said getting out of his chair.
“Any news about the three guys?” He asked walking to his chair.
“Four, where’s your mind today?”
“Anything about the fantastic four?” He asked sinking into the chair.
“All those names are bogus. John Crowley is a schizophrenic patient currently admitted at Jackson Memorial in Miami, Ted Goblet – dead; died in Marion Federal Penitentiary Illinois two years ago, Sam Therizion is a law abiding citizen; actually a chemist professor at Stanford, and Peter McGill is a gulf war hero who brags of serving with John McCain. He lives just next door - Pasadena. They’re using other people’s identities. Your turn.
“Mine is much better,” he said gently rubbing his chin.
“Much better than mine?” She asked standing next to him.
“Nicole’s body is gone,” he said calmly, looking up at her.
“What do you mean gone, was it stolen?”
“Not at all. Brooke’s lawyer took it.”
“And I’m guessing you went to see him, otherwise why would you ask me for his address?” She said sitting at the edge of the desk looking down at him.
“I did.”
“And?” Curiously, she asked.
“He burnt it yesterday.”
“What!” In surprise, she tapped on the desk.
“Hey, no need to break my desk, its done.”
She paused for a while just staring into the air before softly saying, “I’m so lost here, why, was it her husband who…?”
“Nope,” Brett cut her short and continued, “It was all Brooke, she had a will.”
“Wow, the story gets better,” she remarked sarcastically.
“She left her lawyer specific instructions, to cremate her body within twenty four hours of her death, and that was to happen with or without her husband’s consent or knowledge. Can you believe that?”
“So the husband doesn’t know?” She asked looking down at him.
“Yep, he has no idea,” he said almost feeling sorry for Trey.
Nicole paused for a while to process then asked, “Did you actually see the will?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How do you know it’s authentic?”
“Don’t even go there.”
“Why not, we should at least find out if…”
“She left an audio message for her husband, telling him to back off from interfering with the cremation. It was her choice.”
“I see,” she said rising from the desk.
“I know Rendell is hiding something but he’s covered his tracks pretty well. He’s untouchable for now.”
“So what’s our new game plan; my mind is totally blank,” she said sitting in the other chair.
“We leave Brooke for a while and focus on Ironside.”
“Great – where do we start?” She asked leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms across her chest.
“Bring in the fat guy from the junkyard.”
“On what grounds?”
“Lying to federal agents, obstruction of justice, identity theft...”
“Okay I get it.”
“Shirley will help you sketch his face.”
“Why do we need to sketch his face, can’t we just go and pick him up? I mean we know where he is.”
“I have a feeling we won’t find him at the junkyard. So we’re being proactive.”
“I’m gonna have to pay Brooke’s shrink another visit.”
“Why? You said she was devastated by Brooke’s death, right?”
“Or it was all just an act.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“Someone from Jordin’s office paid me a visit early this morning,” Nicole said standing to leave Brett’s office.
“Who?” Brett asked anxiously.
“Her secretary.”
“And what did she say?” His interest certainly aroused.
“I’ll hold on to that one for now,” she responded exiting the office.
“Nicole!” Brett called out as she left his office, the suspense definitely driving him insane. After leaving Brett’s office, Nicole headed straight to Jack’s desk. She had a job for him.
“Jack Bauer.”
“You always call me that when you want something.”
“That’s not true,” Nicole said leaning behind him on the left side of his desk.
“I’ve got something for you.”
“I’m busy, find somebody else,” he said, his eyes still glued on his computer monitor, his right hand on the mouse. He was not buying into her cajolery.
“There’s no one else.”
“In this whole dump you can’t find anybody else? What are all those things sitting behind desks, aliens in human bodies?”
“Come now. I have a job for everyone,” Nicole said lifting her head to look at Shirley sitting at her desk. Coincidentally, Shirley was at the same time looking over at Jack’s desk.
“So you expect me to just abandon whatever I’m doing? What about her?” He asked turning his eyes to Shirley.
“You know she’s not half as smart as you,” Nicole said gazing at Shirley before turning to look at him, “And I need the best brains on this,” then she smiled clearly tying to pat his ego.
Jack stopped typing and turned to her. Bingo! She’d got him.
Afterwards, Nicole instructed him to thoroughly investigate Jordin Stevenworth; her friends, family, patients, lawsuits, accounts – everything worth knowing. After leaving Jack’s desk she headed to Shirley’s.
“I need your help,” Nicole said standing next to Shirley who immediately stopped typing and turned to her, “With what?”
“A criminal face.”
“And what are you waiting for?”
“Pardon me?”
“Pull up a chair.”


13


As soon as they confirmed the room she’d been moved to, they hurried into the elevator. It was only after the elevator doors closed and they found themselves sharing the lift with an elderly woman carrying a bouquet that it hit them – they didn’t have any flowers for Robin.
“For my grandson,” she told them with a warm smile.
“Tiiing,” the elevator bell rang after hitting the third floor and they rushed out.
“You’re awake!” Audrey shouted as Robin slowly turned to the people entering her room.
“I was so worried, Mom. I didn’t know what to do.”
Mother and daughter hugged softly as Trey pulled up a chair next to Robin’s bed.
“No need to worry honey, I’ll be fine. My name is Ironside, remember?”
Robin joked and Audrey chuckled. Robin then continued, “I was worried about you too sweetheart,” then turning to Trey she said, “But Trey took good care of you, didn’t he?”
“Yes he did,” Audrey answered smiling at Trey.
“Thank you Trey,” Robin told Trey, her expression being worth more than her words.
“Don’t mention it. So how are you feeling, druggy?” Trey joked.
“Woozy, like I smoked all the pot in Jamaica.”
They all shared in a light laugh. Then turning to Audrey, Robin said, “Honey, will you give us a minute please?”
“Sure,” Audrey kissed her mother on the forehead and then excused herself.
“This place is not safe…” Trey began, but was immediately interrupted by an incoming message on his phone. It read: “Garden Square, in ten.”

* * *

Two anonymous men were in dark rooms conversing over the phone.
“You messed up,” the first man said angrily with a hoarse raspy voice.
“I don’t understand,” the other man responded.
“Of course you don’t idiot. The subject is still alive at Kaiser Hospital.”
“I’m sorry boss,” responded the junior.
“I don’t need your apology, I need you to finish the job, do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” the man responded quickly.
“Then listen carefully because am only gonna say this once. I’m sending you a fake ID that reads Jake O’Dell. It will be your cover. You’ll be Dr. Jake O’Dell, a new doctor expected to start his shift today at 7 pm. You need to get there ahead of the real doctor. Ask a nurse to assist you transfer the subject to room 7A, on the ground floor. Purposely forget the subject's medical file until you get to the elevator, then ask the nurse to go get it. Make sure you remain alone with the subject in the elevator. One problem though. The doctor is cute, but you – you look like an ogre.”
“Don’t worry sir, with the fake ID I don’t need to meet the nurses. Just tell me the room number and I’ll go straight to the room.”
“Room 18C.”
“Got it.”
The line went dead.

* * *

Trey was five minutes early, so he sat on a deserted bench to study his surroundings and make sure it wasn’t a set up. He enjoyed the fresh air and used the time to unwind a little bit. He had a zillion questions, all beginning with why?
After randomly throwing his eyes here and there, he finally relaxed. Everything was normal; the park was crammed with singles, couples, and families hanging out, all having a good time.

After several minutes, an African American man approached and quietly sat at the opposite edge of the bench to read the sports page of his newspaper. Trey was just about to ask him to leave, when the man spoke first.
“Manchester United sucks!” He exclaimed then turned to Trey, “No offense.”
“None taken, I don’t follow British soccer.”
“And who does in America?”
“Excuse me?”
The mysterious man continued staring at Trey. Trey was baffled; the man wasn’t a soccer fan? And why was he staring at him, what was he expecting from him?
“Trey, ex UC,” Trey finally said.
“Chad, ex UC too. Nice to meet you, Trey,” Chad said extending his right hand for a handshake and as they shook hands Chad asked, “I’m just curious, how did you find out about exilio.com?”
“When I broke ranks with UC, a friend mentioned to me about the decoy website. He said in case UC came after me, I’d get all the help I needed from rogue UC contractors like yourself. So here I am. I need help,” Trey confessed.
“So you’re ready to be a rogue?” Chad asked seriously.
“I have no choice.”
“What happened?” Chad asked turning away from Trey to look at the people in the park.
“Two days ago my wife was marked, and on the same day, my friend almost got marked as well.”
“And who’s your friend?”
“Robin Ironside.”
Chad instantaneously turned to look at Trey as he asked, “It’s about Ionshaker?”
“I… I don’t know,” Trey admitted.
“It can’t be the government that’s after you,” Chad turned to look at the people in the park.
“Why?” Trey asked eagerly.
“UC only marks contractors that go AWOL, not their families and friends. If it were the government, they’d only come after you. But if Ironside, the creator of Ionshaker is also on the hit list, it’s definitely someone else.
“How can you be so sure?”
Chad turned to Trey and said, “Because Robin Ironside and Ionshaker are one, and the two are very important to the government. In fact, Ionshaker is more important than even the president himself. Destroying one of them is like having America without congress – it just can’t happen.
“If not UC, then who wants Robin Ironside?” Trey asked.
“Al Fakir,” Chad answered slowly, almost in a whisper.
“Al Fa what?” Trey whispered with a sudden frown on his face.
“Al Fakir. Al Qaeda’s latest offshoot.”
“Al Fakir, Al Qaeda, what are you talking about? I’m wanted by terrorists?”
“It’s not about you Trey. It’s about Ionshaker. Al Fakir wants Ionshaker, so obviously they’ll be interested in its inventor – and her relationships.”
“What about my wife, she was no scientist, why did Al Fakir kill her?”
Gazing into Trey’s anxious eyes, Chad said calmly but seriously, “To scare you off. To give you a warning, not to try to protect Ironside.”
“But if they want Ironside to get Ionshaker, why did they try to take her out yesterday?”
“Beats me, but I guess you’re gonna have to figure it out,” Chad stared at Trey for a while before asking, “How much are you willing to risk for Ironside?”
“Everything,” Trey replied instantly, suddenly realizing the extent of his feelings. Chad could see it was pointless to try to talk him out of it. The man was determined to save Ironside. He may be useful after all, thought Chad, before standing up and saying, “Walk with me.”


14


At exactly 6:50pm, a scary looking man with a scald on his cheek stepped into room 18C – Robin’s new room and Robin almost died of an instant heart attack. As soon as she saw him, she recognized him as the Grim Reaper.

She was dead meat.

“No, don’t touch me! You’re not a doctor,” panicky she said. Then straining to press the panic button, she called out, “Nurse, nurse, someone help me, a man is in my room to kill me.”

But the man was quick and beat her to it. Then, forcing her down with his left hand over her mouth to prevent her from calling for help, he totally subdued her.
Then he took out of his pocket a syringe with the lethal injection, grabbed her arm and ruthlessly drove the syringe into her veins.

Poor Robin clenched her teeth in anger and frustration as the poison quickly joined her bloodstream. He had won, she finally let up, there was no point in holding on because there was no one to come to her rescue. As she felt herself drowsing away into a slumber, she was sure - that was it, she’d never wake up.

As soon as Robin’s brain went offline, he transferred her to a stretcher, and speedily rolled the stretcher out of the room heading to the elevator. He pushed the stretcher into the elevator and soon enough, the elevator doors began closing.
The man grinned – it was over.

* * *

At 6:55pm, the deputy Chief of medicine Dr. Sham Brigance and a tall and strong, broad shouldered, clean shaven, blue eyed, deep voiced and well-mannered thirty-something year-old Dr. Jake O’Dell, the real one, popped up at the reception lobby to meet a small bunch of nurses assembled at the lobby next to Jecy’s reception desk.

The hottest gossip of the day, especially among the single ladies - both doctors and nurses, was about Dr. O’Dell’s great looks and features.
“I heard he’s so pretty,” said a nurse with short blonde hair.
“Me too. I can’t wait to see him,” replied her friend.

For the better part of the day, that had been the angle of chit-chat among the hospital’s womenfolk waiting to meet the new hot doctor.

And at 6:55, it was showtime.

The deputy chief - Dr. Sham Brigance, introduced the hot shot to the nurses and let him say a few words to them. They were all excited to have him at the hospital. Afterwards, the new doctor teamed up with Nurse Rita Morison to go and check on Dr. O’Dell’s first patient – Robin Ironside.

But as soon as they reached room 18C, they had a shock of their life – Robin Ironside was missing. Immediately, Rita notified Jecy at the reception who in turn notified the deputy chief. The deputy chief was the first to arrive at Jecy’s desk.
“You said a patient is missing on the third floor?”
“Yes.”
Totally confused, he asked, “What’s the name of the patient?”
“Robin Ironside.”
“And when did this happen…?”
“We don’t know. Rita and the new doctor have just learned about her disappearance a minute ago…”
Jecy was interrupted by a panting Rita Morrison quickly walking towards Dr. Brigance with Dr. O’Dell on her side.
“Dr. Brigance, I can’t find the patient. God forgive me, I didn’t listen to her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The last time I checked on her, she told me she was scared someone might come to the hospital to kill her, but I thought it was the meds talking,” Rita confessed, then added with tears lingering in her eyes, “We found this,” holding out a used syringe they had picked off the floor of Robin’s room.

Immediately, the doctor turned to Jecy with instructions, “Inform security a patient is missing and they should not let any vehicle leave the hospital. Also, I want the patient’s photos hanging on every single door and hallway – I want to see her everywhere. I’m calling the police.”

* * *

Inside the hospital basement parking lot, a masked man was trying to break into an ambulance marked 67. He used a long slender metal bar and slipped it in between the window and the body of the driver’s door to undo the lock. After he heard a click sound, he pulled the metal and opened the door.

He then climbed into the driver’s seat, just as a raucous alarm went off augmented by flickering orange and red blinkers, that began flipping everywhere.
Hastily, he took out of his jeans pocket a small flashlight, switched it on and clenched it with his teeth, as he bent under the dashboard to pull a couple of electric cables in order to hot-wire the ambulance. After selecting the wires and brushing them twice, the engine cranked and idled steadily.

He reversed the ambulance towards the elevator.

As if everything was auto-controlled, the elevator with the mysterious man and Robin strapped on a stretcher hit the basement floor in time and opened. The scary man speedily rolled Robin’s stretcher out of the elevator. Quickly, the driver got out of the front of the ambulance, swung open the two rear doors and rushed to help the other man haul the stretcher into the rear of the ambulance.

After securing the cargo and shutting the rear doors, it was time to split. He took off his mask and got into the driver’s seat as the fake doctor leaped into the passenger’s seat.

With its own blasting siren and flicking orange and red lights, the ambulance veered out of the basement. There was only one obstacle. The security at the gate had been ordered not to let any vehicle leave the hospital. How would they get out?


15


A hold up was starting to form at the gate. Following the hospital’s order that no one be allowed to leave. People could only come in.

Still, the earsplitting ambulance 67 was trying to maneuver its way out. A hospital security guard approached the driver’s window.
“We’re responding to an emergency, we need to get out,” the driver said with a sense of urgency.
“I understand, but I have my orders,” the guard responded respectfully.
“Seriously? You’re going to talk about orders when someone’s dying? Hospitals are about saving lives, so would you just please open the gate before we waste any more time, so that we can save a life,” the driver insisted.
The guard remained reticent trying to make up his mind. If he refused to let the ambulance go and somebody actually died – he’d be responsible. On the other hand, if he let the ambulance go and the missing patient ended up dead – he’d be responsible too. Either way, he’d have to deal with the unknown outcome.
He sighed, stepped away from the ambulance and turned to the staring drivers awaiting his ruling.
“Everyone make way for the paramedics now. Move out of the way,” he ordered in a loud commanding voice.
As the drivers began obeying the order and made way for the ambulance, one of the drivers, a melancholic-looking man in his early thirties stepped out of a blue Chevrolet Optra to plead with the guard.
“Please, you have to let us go too. My wife has just had a baby and she needs to rest,” he earnestly implored.
“I hear you but I’m sorry. Get back into your car,” the guard was adamant.
“We can work something out. Check the car, and if you don’t find anything you let us go. Please, I am begging you.”
“Sir, get back to your car now before you get into trouble,” the guard said harshly. He was not making any more concessions.

* * *

In the rear of the ambulance, bit by bit Robin started regaining consciousness. At first, it was all hazy and she thought she was dreaming. But after a while she realized she was in motion.

Though helplessly strapped on the stretcher, she was grateful to still be alive. Perhaps she’d get one last chance to plead for her life. She was ready to pay her captor all the money she had just to let her keep breathing.

Powerful lights on the sides brightened the rear of the ambulance. It was full of first aid supplies.

Then she sensed a drastic decrease in speed. It could only mean one thing: they were drawing close to their final destination. She hoped it wasn’t the slaughterhouse.
For a short while, the ambulance drove roughly on a bumpy road, probably heading deep into the countryside, before it came to a halt.
She tried to control her adrenaline-boosted shortened breaths; her heart almost beating out of her chest.

Then she heard the driver and passenger doors bang. They were no longer afraid of being heard, nobody would hear anything anyway – they were in the middle of nowhere.

It was over.

She’d be tortured to give up whatever information they believed she possessed, then they’d slaughter her like a sheep and dump her in a river for nature to take care of the rest. And then, the stench from her reeking body would call the attention of wild dogs, hyenas, foxes, wolves and other rapacious beasts wandering about looking for such a scrumptious meal, and they’d devour her with a beastly appetite.

With all her might, she tried propping herself on the stretcher into a sitting position, but was unable. The straps that bound her on the stretcher, plus her dwindled body strength, made her efforts futile. All she could do was tilt her head and stare at the door, waiting for the bogeyman.

Then, the hour came and the doorknob turned with a loud creaking sound. Instantly, her heart skipped three beats instead of one, and her eyes closed reflexively as torrents of tears streamed shamelessly down her cheeks.
When she heard a footstep on the rear bumper, she let it out instantly. It was a hysterical scream, a scream of madness, a scream of fear, a scream of a frightened dying woman.

“It’s me. It’s okay, Robin, it’s me, I’m here for you…” Trey said reassuringly.
She couldn’t believe it. It was her savior, entering the ambulance to rescue her like a super-hero. Trey undid the straps and hugged her as she whimpered in his arms, refusing to believe the nightmare was over.
“Trey,” she said in his arms after calming down, looking at him, “I was so scared.”
“I know, but you’re safe now. I’m here,” he said gently pushing back strands of hair from her face.
“How did you find me?” She asked looking at him.
“The whole thing was my idea. It was the only way to pull it off and it happened so fast. When I left your bed earlier to day I went to meet a man who helped me plan how we’d sneak you out of the hospital, but when I came back to tell you, you had been sedated. So am sorry if we scared you.”
“Yeah. You scared me; I thought he was the killer, why didn’t he say something? He just grabbed my arm and gave me a shot…”
“And if he had told you I had sent him would you have believed him?” He challenged her gently stroking her hair.
Robin paused for a while then smiled as she answered, “Not in a million years.”
“You see, he had no choice. But nevertheless, I’m sorry that our genius plan freaked you out.”
“Promise not to leave me,” she demanded with a serious face.
“I promise. Now let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Okay,” she said with a smile amidst the tears on her face. Trey gently hoisted her from the stretcher. She knew as long as she was with him, no one would dare touch her.

* * *

The man with the fake ‘Jake O’Dell’ ID, the one sent to kill Robin Ironside was on the phone speaking with his boss.
“We have a problem,” he said warily.
“Another problem?” The boss responded harshly.
“The target had already been moved when we got to the hospital.”
“Do you know what defenestration means?”
“No sir,” the junior responded respectfully.
“Grab a dictionary and look it up,” the boss yelled over the phone then hung up.


16


A half hour later, the media had already pitched tent outside the hospital waiting for a statement from either the police or the hospital administration. On their part, the police had done a thorough search for the missing patient inside and outside the hospital as well as searching all the vehicles on the hospital premises, but to no avail. Still, Robin Ironside was missing.

But the police captain hadn’t given up yet, he was still digging. He asked the guards at the gate, “Who was manning the gate?”
“I was,” said the guard who’d been on duty.
“The hospital claims you were notified immediately the patient went missing not to let any vehicle leave the premises, is that correct?”
“Yes sir,” the guard answered confidently.
“That means, when you closed the gate the patient and her kidnappers were still in the premises, which implies you let a vehicle go, which is in breach of the order you were given, which means you’ll be in a great deal of trouble if you don’t come clean now. I only have one question. Did you let out any vehicle after closing the gate?”
“No,” the man answered with a poker face.
“Are you absolutely sure?” The captain made a step forward closer to the guard studying his face.
“Yes,” the guard responded looking at the ground and shifting his weight.
Just then, the melancholic-looking man stepped out of his blue sedan and slowly walked towards the two men. They both turned at the approaching man. Everyone watched on, a showdown was looming.
“Can I help you sir?” Asked the captain.
“Actually, I want to help you,” he responded with his unsympathetic eyes staring at the guard. It was payback time.
“Excuse me?” The officer didn’t get him.
“He let ambulance 67 go,” The man said, his eyes sternly fixated on the guard. Then the captain turned squarely on the guard.
“You lied to me?” The captain’s voice went up.
The guard glanced around to read the mood of the people he’d held up at the gate.
“I can explain…”
“Its too late to grow a spine,” the captain cut him short, then turning to the other guard he said, “You can open the gates and let people go home,” then turning back to the guard who had just confessed to letting ambulance 67 go he said, “You come with me, now!”

* * *

Nicole came out of her bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet, on her way to the bedroom when her cell phone was ringing.
“It better be important Kate,” she answered the phone walking to the bedroom.
“It’s Kaiser,” Kate said from on the other end of the line and an instant grimace formed on Nicole’s face as she stopped walking to say, “I’m listening.”
“Robin Ironside has just gone missing.”
“What? How, she could barely blink!” Nicole exclaimed.
“Kidnapped, the police are still investigating,” Kate answered quickly.
“How long ago?”
“Over a half an hour.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as she hung up, she speed dialed Brett who was stretched on the couch in front of his plasma with a pint of ice cream in his hand, watching the news.
“I need to sing you a lullaby before you can go to bed?” Brett teased with a broad smile on his face.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s about Kaiser.”
“Kaiser?” he sat up straight.
“Robin Ironside just went missing a half hour ago.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” he said with a puckered brow formed on his face.”

* * *

He’d been summoned by a wrinkled, cold, coarse-voiced and eye patched, fifty eight year-old man. The man had been befittingly nicknamed “Hitler”. It was going to be his second meeting with Hitler since being contracted to mark Ironside. But as it had turned out, Ironside had refused to die and had cheated death twice.

During his recruitment, Hitler had emphasized well enough, Ironside could not be let to live. Their success depended on her being taken care of alongside Brooke. And because that had failed to happen, Hitler was hopping mad.

He knew there was a high chance he’d leave the meeting in a body bag, but there was no backing out. How ironic that Ironside’s hired killer could actually die before Ironside herself! Even if he imagined running, where would he go? Al Fakir had its tentacles everywhere and there was no burrow too deep for them.

It became apparent that even killers fear killers.

He drove eight bocks before abandoning Artesia Freeway to take a deserted tunnel, no actually – a death tunnel. The tunnel was more of a death trap than a conference venue. Through the windshield, he saw Hitler’s slick black H2 Hummer. He parked his gray Cherokee behind the H2, got out, walked to the Hummer’s left side and stopped at the rear door. The tinted window rolled down just enough for him to see Hitler’s vile eyes.
“Sir, a third party got involved...” He started pleading his case.
Hitler cut short the contractor’s defense by raising his index finger; a clear cue to hush up immediately. Next, the cold old man handed him an oversized brown envelope.
“Open,” Hitler ordered.
Like a little boy who’d been handed a gift, the contractor instantly ripped the envelope seal and pulled out photos of a man.
“h,” Hitler began, “Now he calls himself Trey Woodley, former UC, presumed dead but now he’s back from the grave. He needs to be put to rest – this time for real.”
“Understood.”
“You better,” Hitler said then turning away from him he asked, “By the way, did you do the little English homework I gave you?”
“Yes sir,” he answered quickly.
“And?”
“Defenestration means throwing someone out of a window.”
Hitler grinned then turned to him with a serious face and said, “Pray that next time we meet, you don’t experience that first-hand.”

Immediately Hitler said that, the tinted window rolled up and the Hummer blasted away. The contractor had been spared this time, but he knew it was the last time. It meant one thing, if he had to avoid being defenestrated by Hitler; he had to defenestrate Robin Ironside soon. Only one obstacle was in his way – this third party Aaron Schakowsky a.k.a Trey Woodley. He had to take care of the third party as well.


17


The hideout was a ramshackle garage of an old deserted house. Trey finished up a brief meeting with Dr. Jared Cook, the scary looking associate of his who had whisked Robin from the hospital. Afterwards, he walked over to Robin and Audrey huddling on the couch.
“I know that look. What’s wrong?” Robin said warily.
“I have to leave Robin,” Trey said softly.
Robin instantly grabbed his arm and said, “You can’t Trey.”
“You won’t be alone. Dr. Richards will be here with you.”
“You know how he scares me, you can’t be serious Trey,” she whispered.
“I know it’s a little scary…”
“No Trey, clearly you don’t have any idea,” she furiously interjected him.
Trey sighed, looked down, then raised his head to gently implore her, “But I have to, please understand I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”
“You promised Trey, you promised you wouldn’t leave us…” She pleaded softly with a touching feminine voice taking both of his hands.
“I’m not abandoning you and Audrey. I promise...”
“We don’t need promises, we need you,” Robin snapped, letting go of his hands as she turned to hug Audrey who was close to tears. Trey exhaled deeply without anything further to add.
“Why now Trey?” She asked after a while.
Robin couldn’t understand why after sneaking her from the hospital, he suddenly wanted out. On his part, he tried concocting a reasonable explanation, but there was no way around it. He had to tell them.
“Brooke was shot…”
He couldn’t continue. It was still too bitter.
“Oh my God! What?” Utterly surprised, she let go of Audrey to turn to Trey sympathetically and ask, “Why? Was it the same people who tried to kill me? Did they go after her to get to you?”
“I don’t know, but I have to go back to find out and put an end to it. And also to arrange for her funeral.”
She pulled him and hugged him telling him over his shoulder, “I’m truly sorry Trey. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be back, I promise. You gotta trust me,” he said reassuringly pulling out of the hug to look into her eyes.”
“I trust you. I know you’ll come back for us,” she said nodding her head repeatedly.

* * *

Eight hours after Robin’s disappearance from the hospital, Trey was dreading returning to his house. He pictured white markings on the floor where his slain wife had laid, blood spatters around the house, broken furniture and broken glass. He decided he couldn’t face it in the dark, so he spent the night in his dark-green Ford until a honking truck rudely woke him up. After waking up, he zipped up his red hoodie and glanced at the watch on the dash. It was 6:23am. He started the car.

* * *
Rendell was just several yards away from his gate when he saw Trey’s dark-green Ford roll up.
“Who are you trying to impress?” Trey said, getting out of the car.
“Can’t I just be doing this for myself?” Rendell answered, wearing a jogging outfit and trying to catch his breath. Trey let him calm down.
“Sorry for your loss Trey,” Rendell said next when he’d calmed down.
“Suspects?” Trey asked after a while ignoring Rendell’s sympathies.
“You were the only suspect, and since they let you go, I haven’t heard any developments. They still got nothing.”
“Take me to her. I can’t do it on my own. I tried to...”
Rendell turned his attention to the road.
“You gotta take me,” Trey continued to plead.
“I don’t know man,” Rendell said turning to him.
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the only one I…”
“There is no body,” Rendell said uneasily.
“What – what are you saying?” Trey made a step towards Rendell.
“She… uh…she was cremated.”
“What!” Trey made another step closer with dark veins starting to show on his face. Rendell remained quiet.
“Who did it?” Trey asked softly, but with malice in his eyes.
“It’s complicated...” Rendell tried to explain but was immediately interjected with Trey angrily grabbing Rendell’s sweatshirt pulling him close and demanding, “Then uncomplicate it for me. Who burned my wife?”
“I did,” Rendell admitted as his facial muscles tightened, expecting to be bashed in the face. But to his surprise, Trey let go of him, trying to come to terms with his betrayer.
Trey couldn’t believe it. He turned and began walking to his car with his hands placed on his head, utterly floored by his friend’s betrayal. His head was about to explode. It was too much to take in.

He turned back with the urgency of a psyched up bull ready for a fatal bull fight. He had such a venomous rage, it was like he was overtaken by a mysterious force. He wanted to grab Rendell with all his strength, hoist the fifty seven year-old betrayer off the ground and repeatedly bang him into the gate. He so wanted to hurt him. But he knew it wouldn’t bring his wife back.
“How could you do this to me, Rendell?” He asked weakly.
“Believe me when I tell you, I didn’t wanna do it – but she insisted.”
“She insisted? How when she was dead?” Trey yelled bitterly. Rendell wasn’t making any sense.
“Yes. It’s in her will.”
“Her will?” Trey ran his fingers through his hair.
“Yes.”
“She asked you to cremate her?” Trey asked confusedly. Maybe he hadn’t known his own wife that well.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I asked her but she wouldn’t tell me. Let’s go to the office, I’ll show it to you. She left a will and a tape,” Rendell said softly.
“What about me – the husband? Did you think of how this would hurt me?”
“I tried to tell you over the phone but you cut me short,” Rendell shrug his shoulders.
“That’s your excuse – that I cut you short?” He asked with a serious face.
“What do you want me to say? I was an attorney for both of you, and she came to me as a client, not as the wife of my friend. Did you expect me to turn her down?” Rendell raised his voice.
“Yes Rendell,” Trey insisted with a much louder tone, then continued, “As my trusted friend I expected you’d turn her down just this once,” Trey said, accentuating each word.
“Would it have sounded any better if it came from a different attorney? Is that what you’re telling me? How many times have you asked me to keep stuff from her?” Rendell asked rhetorically. It was time to talk facts.
“A tape?” Trey asked after a brief pause.
“Yes, for you Trey. Let’s go to the office.”

As he stepped into the car, questions raced through his head. How could she have had such a will? How could she have had such a wish? How could she have kept it from him? She’d been on his case blaming him of being withdrawn and secretive, whereas she’d been sitting on some kind of dark secret.

But he also knew he wasn’t so clean either. Though he was overcome with rage and emotion about losing his wife’s body, he hated the vivid revelation that their marriage was a sham. Why had they gotten married in the first place? He wondered because ever since he got married to Brooke he had kept stuff from her including his real name: Aaron Schakowsky. Suddenly, he hated himself as much as he hated her.
“You know what Rendell, I don’t care.”
Trey started the car and drove off.


18


“Detective Brett Dawson, do you have any leads on the kidnapping?” A reporter from a bunch of other news people that had surrounded his car shouted the question.
“Yes. We have reason to believe that a man by the name of Trey Woodley is responsible for yesterday’s kidnapping, and we’re appealing to any person with information on his whereabouts to come forward. In line with that, we’re issuing a cash reward of $10,000 to anyone who’ll help us capture Trey Woodley. That’ll be all for now, thank you.”
He smiled to the cameras making his way into the building. As soon as he appeared in the large open office, Nicole grabbed his arm and whisked him off.
“Why am I sensing you’re kidnapping me?” Brett asked, Nicole still tightly gripping his arm.
“You mean the way Trey kidnapped Robin?”
“Oh, so that’s what this is about. Are you trying to teach me some kind of a lesson here?”
“A ten grand for Trey, seriously Brett?” Nicole suddenly stopped to frown at him.
“Why not?” Brett stopped then continued, “Anderson approved it and we all know he kidnapped…”
“Took Ironside,” Nicole quickly corrected him.
“Are you his lawyer now?”
They resumed walking.
“Do I have to be for you to believe he’s a good guy?”
“And how sure are you he didn’t kidnap her?” He looked at her.
“Think about it. Robin’s car was tampered with so that she could die in an accident, meaning the people who want Ironside dead have no reason to keep her alive – but kidnapping her is keeping her alive.”
“But how are you even sure she’s still alive? She could be dead for all I know.”
“You’re not listening to me. The people who tried to kill her in a car crash would have just shot her dead or administered some lethal injection at the hospital. They had no reason to take her out of the hospital. All they care about is to see her dead. That means, who ever took Ironside from the hospital was trying to protect her from them.”
“And exactly who is them?”
“My guess is some kind of a network that wants Robin dead, the people behind the cover up at the junkyard, the people Robin Ironside was running from before the accident.”
“And don’t you see we’re on the same page? Trey can’t possibly protect Ironside by himself. It’s impossible. Think of the state and federal felonies he has already committed and the many more he’ll have to commit to protect her. The only way to protect Ironside is to bring him in so he can tell us where she is, then we will protect her. More importantly, she needs medical attention.”
They stopped at his office door. She knew he could have been right, but she wasn’t going to pat him on the back.
“There has to be another way,” she said beginning to walk away.
“If you think of one, I’m all ears,” he told her loudly as she walked away.

* * *

Trey could not remember the last time he’d eaten anything, and he urgently needed something hot to lighten up his foul mood. He pulled up at a coffee shop for breakfast and was served a steaming latte and a burger that he gobbled down in no time. Afterwards, he wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin and walked over to the cashier’s counter to pay.
He handed the cashier – an Indian man with a heavy accent, a twenty dollar bill and as the cashier pulled a drawer to fetch him his change, Trey idly turned to the TV.

As soon as he saw Brett on the screen being interviewed by reporters, his hair stood on end. Brett was appealing to the public to pass information on Trey’s whereabouts for a cash reward of a hundred thousand dollars. He was wanted for Robin’s kidnapping. All of sudden, he’d become a kidnapper.

He was so taken by the news that he failed to take his change in time and the cashier was also drawn to the breaking news. The cashier instantly figured out he was sitting on a gold mine. The ten grand reward money had parked outside his shop, eaten in his diner and was standing right in front of him. Images flashed through his mind – he’d do a nice paint job, revamp the place with a new set of chairs and tables, expand his carte de jour and hire additional staff. When the news item passed and the two stared into each other’s eyes, it all became too clear; the cashier knew who he was.

With his poker face on, Trey grabbed his change and exited the building. But he knew he wouldn’t walk to his car, at least not right away.

As soon as Trey stepped out, the owner called a waiter and asked him to tail the ten K as he hastily dialed the FBI hotline still scrolling at the bottom of the screen.
“Hello, my name is Vardik Patel.”
“Yes Mr. Patel, you understand this is an FBI hotline?” Responded a lady voice over the telephone.
“Yes yes, that’s the reason I am calling you,” the Asian struggled to enunciate with his heavy Indian accent getting in the way.
“Go ahead.”
“I want to report that I have just served that man, the wanted man for the kidnapping of that lady who has been on the television a minute ago.”
In the meantime, inside the FBI office, the lady on the phone quickly covered the telephone receiver’s mouthpiece with her palm as she gestured to her colleague to start running a trace on the call.
Patel paused for a while to make sure the lady on the other end was following since she’d been quiet.
“Hello?” He inquired.
“Yes I’m listening,” she responded.
“My coffee shop is called Yummy Yummy. So what about the ten thousand? They said on TV that…”
“Is the wanted man still in your coffee shop?” She interjected.
“No but I assigned one of my…”
Inside the FBI office, another agent who’d initiated a trace on the location of the call, cued the one on the phone – they had the location.
“I’m sorry sir, but until we apprehend the wanted man, we can not discuss the reward right now. We will be in touch and thank you for calling. Tiiiiii…,” all that remained was a dial tone.

Patel’s chance of clinching the reward rested on his waiter.

* * *

Meanwhile, Trey made a quick glance backwards and recognized a waiter from the coffee shop tailing him from a distance.

Immediately, he pulled the red hood over his head and quickened his pace, heading to the subway station on Third Street. He then turned and hastily descended the steps. Left to play catch up, the stalker ran after the man in the red hoodie.
Among the crowds awaiting the morning train, was a teenage couple on cloud nine, madly in love, giggling, hugging, fooling around, simply not bothered by the countless scowling eyes envious of their public display of affection.

Within no time the train hooted and made a stop.

It was time to be keen, and the stalker was thrice that. The subject was on the move and the waiter had his eyes locked on the red hoodie as it disappeared into the forth-last coach. Sensibly, he embarked the third-last coach, the idea being to be behind the red hoodie and monitor it from a distance. And truly, through the glass panes between the coaches, the waiter cum stalker, kept his eye on the red hoodie.

Everything was going according to plan; Trey was still on the train – he could see him still covering his head with the red hoodie. Then it was time to go, the doors shut and the train started picking speed. After a while, the stalker rose, slowly crossed into the coach in front in order to keep a closer eye on him. But when he reached Trey and threw him a glance, alas! He was nonplused.

Remember the kid who was making out on the platform at the subway station? Guess who turned in stead of Trey?
“What?” With a scowl on his face, the teenager asked the gawking at him.
“Where did you get this hood?” The waiter demanded, seizing the boy by the arm.
“Dude, what’s your deal?” The teenager retorted and the waiter’s grip tightened as he nearly shouted, “This is not yours, who gave it to you?!”
“It was a surprise gift from my girlfriend, fool. She had some guy give it to me just after I got on the train.”

Meanwhile, Trey was back on Santa Monica Freeway wracking his brain. He needed cash to stay on the run. As he walked past an ATM machine he was tempted to go to the cash machine, but he knew better – the FBI was watching his and Brooke’s bank accounts. Any withdrawal from an ATM machine would giveaway his location.
There was only one place for him to get some cash. He was going to ask Rendell - he owed him that much. He’d borrow some money from him.

But how would he get to Rendell’s house? He needed his car.
But then again, how would he pick up the car without the greedy Asian seeing him and alerting the FBI?
Damn. FBI.

A kid – probably ninish-tenish – was skating along the pavements, headed in Trey’s direction. He stepped to the pavement, blocking the kid’s way.
“Move! Get outta the way!” the kid shouted.
Trey didn’t barge, and eventually the kid stopped. But as the kid began going around him, Trey said, “Hi Buddy, how would you like to make ten bucks?”
Still peering through the glass, Patel saw a kid hurriedly get into the SUV. He looked like he was barely big enough to reach the pedals. Then the vehicle started up and drove off. What the…? The greedy Indian wondered as he hurried to get from behind the counter to look at the speeding SUV.


19


It was 9:50am and Rendell was organizing his briefcase before heading to the office. After meeting Trey at his gate he had gone up to the house, prepared himself then spend an hour in his study going over some files. But just as he was finalizing everything before leaving for the office, the doorbell rang. Thinking it was Trey, he unlocked the door and yelled “Come in!” He was probably back to apologize for his reaction to Brooke’s will and tape.

Suddenly a gigantic figure stepped inside wearing black jeans, black gloves, dark sunglasses and a black leather jacket with stenciled skeleton caricatures.
“Rendell?” The thug asked.
“…and you are…?” Rendell asked apprehensively.
“Step back,” the thug said, taking out a gun and placing it on Rendell’s chest. Rendell obeyed and the thug stepped into the living room with him.
“Take it easy. Take whatever you want. Nobody needs to get hurt.”
“We’ll see about that.”

* * *

No no no! Lamented Rene Hernandez, Rendell’s wife, as she sped her two-seater convertible red Mercedes to work. She’s suddenly realized she’d forgotten an important file that she’d stayed up working on all night. Her boss would skin her alive if she went to work without it. She pulled the emergency brake lever, turned the steering wheel and spun the sports car into a U-turn as the rubber instantly smoked on the hard tarmac.
Destination: Home.

* * *

“Sit down,” the man said gruffly.
Rendell sat on the sofa trying to be calm. His mind flashed over the criminals he had wronged in his career. He had recently turned down a drug lord who needed representation; maybe he’d sent one of his goons to shake him up a little.
“Where is Trey Woodley?”
“What!” Rendell was surprised at the question. What could Trey have to do with this armed thug?
“Honestly I don’t know,” Rendell said quickly, “He was here earlier but he’s already gone. Where to, I have no clue. You gotta believe me. It’s the truth.”
The gangster raised the gun and placed the cold barrel against Rendell’s forehead.
“For the last time, where is Trey Woodley?”
“I don’t know,” Rendell trembled. “It’s the truth.”
“Liar,” the man said, cocking the gun.
Vrooom! For a split second, they were both distracted by a revving car at the gate. Then the thug gave Rendell a wry smile.

* * *

At the gate, Trey honked his dark-green Ford Explorer and waited for the automated gate open. When that didn’t work, he switched off the engine and got out of the car to speak into the intercom. He waved at the surveillance camera and shouted into the intercom but still nothing happened.

Finally he decided to do it the old fashion way – he climbed over the gate and ran. He just needed to borrow some cash from Rendell or better yet have Rendell go get some money from a cash machine and loan him.

After reaching the front steps, he paused - something was off. The door was slightly open, and yet, despite the ruckus he’d caused at the gate, nobody had greeted him.
He pressed the doorbell and waited. There was no answer. He rang the doorbell again, then glanced at his watch – 9:56. No time to waste.
Gently, he pushed the door.

Rendell was on the couch with a bullet hole in the head. Trey shook his head in unbelief. He’d been arguing with Rendell less than an hour ago.

He slowly drew closer to the couch, with his right hand stretched out to touch Rendell, but he froze just inches away. He knew better than to leave fingerprints. He had to get out of there.

He dashed through the front door and jumped over the gate, the same way he’d gotten into the compound. He got into his car, peeled out and sped away from the gate.

But it was too late.

In the opposite direction, Rene saw the dark-green Ford leaving. She wondered what Trey was doing there at that time of day. Rene got out of her red Mercedes, swiped a key card, and drove up to the front steps.

When she saw the open door she ran up the steps and into the house. She froze at the sight of the scene in front of her. When her mind started working again, her wobbly legs barely carried her to her husband’s corpse, where she collapsed into hysterical shrieks. “Rendy, Rendell, Rendell baby...”

Through her grief she held on to one thought: she knew who did it, and he’d pay dearly.


20


At 10:15am, the female FBI agent was seated on the comfy Italian sofa inside the shrink’s office, paying her another visit. Again she was impressed by Jordin’s office grandeur as her eyes lingered on a potted Swedish Ivy atop the mantel, then a series of Bronze sculptures of horses, then the gold colored drapery, before being she was interrupted by Jordin.
“So what’s up Nicole; second visit in less than a week?” She asked with a light smile after Nicole took a seat.
“I came to ask you a couple of additional questions.”
“About Brooke?”
She phrased it more like a statement than a question.
“No.”
“It’s not about Brooke?” Jordin tilted her head in surprise.
“No, it’s about you.”
“About me!”
The psychiatrist was caught off guard.
“Yeah.”
“What about me would interest you Nicole?” She asked leaning back in her chair.
“Your friends.”
“My friends? What are you talking about?” She asked cautiously, the smile fading quickly from her face.
“I’m particularly interested in the friend who helped you spruce up this place. If I remember correctly, you mentioned a friend. I wanna know who that friend is.”
“And what has that got to do with anything?”
Slowly, Nicole rose from the cozy couch, leisurely walked behind Jordin’s seat then answered, “It has got to do with Brooke’s murder.”
“I fail to see the connection,” the shrink said coldly.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’ve got many friends.”
“But I’ve pinpointed the one I’m interested in – the financier.”
“I no longer want to have this conversation. I suggest you leave my office,” the doctor said beginning to lose her poise, and that had been Nicole’s game plan; to get on her nerves until she cracked. In an agitated state, she was bound to blurt out thoughtlessly, and in those randomly thrown about words, Nicole would pick up on a name, a place, a lead.
“I’ve got news for you - I’m not leaving this office until you give me something,” Nicole said firmly.
“I said we’re done here. If you don’t leave now...”
“You’re gonna call your lawyer? And what is he going to do, huh, what do you expect he’ll do? But you know what? Go ahead, call him. As long as you’re aware that as soon as you lift that phone, I’ll be speed dialing my buddy from the press and by midday today, you’ll be news Jordin, you’ll be a celebrity.”
Jordin rotated in her chair slowly to face Nicole. Nicole had found Jordin’s Achilles’ heel and she would play the blackmail angle until she got a name.
“Are you threatening me?” She asked sternly.
“Not at all, we’re just having a girly conversation,” Nicole said with a smirk.
“And I’ve told you, I don’t feel like talking anymore.”
“Oh, so you’re okay with me calling the press guy then,” Nicole challenged.
“And tell them what, that I killed Brooke?”
“No, not at all, I don’t have any evidence of that…yet.”
“So what, then?”
“Oh! So you still wanna chat?”
“Get out of my office, you have nothing on me, you’re just wasting my time and I have a ton of patients to see.”
“Similar to your former patient - Brooke?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Jordin asked in a loud voice.
“Why do you keep saying that when we’re exactly on the same page, Jordin?”
“And which page is that?”
Nicole took out her cell phone, pressed some buttons and placed it on the desk. Soon Jordin heard her own voice: “Feds have started asking questions about Brooke Woodley… I told them nothing.”
After the recording stopped, Nicole said softly, “Your intercom is faulty. You should have someone come over and fix it.”
“What are you talking about?” Jordin asked warily.
“You see, yesterday when we were talking, apparently it was on and your secretary listened to our conversation. Better yet, when you made this call she recorded it on the intercom then replayed and recorded it on her phone and…”
“Okay okay, I get the point. What do you want?” Jordin interjected harshly with a scared reddened face. Things were so out of control.
“My guess is the person you called immediately I left, is your friend and I…”
Quickly, Jordin cued Nicole to stop talking, grabbed a pen and a paper on the desk and wrote: “Can’t talk here - bugs. Tree garden 8pm.”


21
“Brettos!” Shirley called out; Brett was at Jack’s desk.
“I asked you to stop calling me that. You know my name.”
“I’ll stop when you stop calling Nicole, Nicky. What’s your deal with her anyway? When are you asking her out…?”
He gave her a look that silenced her immediately and walked over to her desk. “What is it?”
“Someone has just called saying he saw someone resembling Trey Woodley a while ago…”
“Where?” Brett asked quickly.
“Somewhere along Santa Monica.”
“He’s trying to leave the city. We don’t have much time.”
“There’s been a shooting!” Jack yelled out suddenly.
“We’ll get to that later,” Brett said with disinterest.
“Even if it’s Rendell Hernandez?”
“Trey’s attorney?” Brett’s eyes lit up as he turned around quickly.
“Uh-hmm.”
“Where?”
“At his house.”
“Was Trey there?”
“We don’t know, the police just arrived.”
“You two follow up on Trey. Call me as soon as you find his location,” Brett said hurrying to the elevator.

* * *
“I know who did it,” Rene had said as soon as the police showed up. “Trey Woodley shot my husband.”
But the officers wanted to give Rene “some time to calm down.” But on the other hand, she couldn’t believe their laxity and disinterest in investigating her husband’s murder with the urgency she desired. The officers weren’t even asking her questions anymore, even though she was certain of Trey’s culpability.
Therefore, she excused herself, made her way into the kitchen and exited the house through rear door. Then, she walked past LAPD officers scrutinizing the manicured lawns, the patio, the door handle and the doorbell, and headed to the gate where journalists and reporters were eagerly seeking a statement.
“Mrs. Rendell, do you know who shot your husband?” Becky Moore the stubborn and nosy reporter was the first to shoot.
“Trey Woodley,” she answered with certainty.
“That’s the same person wanted for the hospital kidnapping, correct? What makes you suspect him?”
“Trey was here this morning and from my bedroom window I saw him beat up my husband at this very gate.”
“Then what happened?” A male reporter shouted from the back of the crowd.
“People started gathering around, so Trey stopped, got into his car and left,” she lied to beef up the story. But hey, no matter what it took, right?
“So he came back later to kill him?” asked a lady from L.A Bulletin.
“Yes. I saw him drive away fast after killing Rendy.”
“You were here when it happened?” It was the same lady from L.A Bulletin.
“I’d returned to the house to pick up a file, that’s when I saw him speed away. When I got to the house, my husband was…” her voice trailed off.
“What about motive?” It was Becky Moore.
“My husband cremated Trey’s wife without his knowledge...”
“Please excuse Mrs. Hernandez,” interrupted Trey, arriving at the gate. “As you can imagine, she’s under a lot of stress right now. Thank you.”
“Agent Dawson, Mrs. Hernandez claims Trey Woodley is the shooter. Do you concur?”
“Too early to tell, but if anyone sees Trey anywhere, please call the police or FBI immediately. Around him, people seem to get hurt.”


22

Trey was boxed inside Los Angeles, his face plastered on every news channel, a huge sum of reward money for his arrest was up for grabs, his finances constrained, his friends’ and family’s calls monitored and all possible places he’d run to were under surveillance.
With absolutely no chance of getting out, his fate was sealed and it was just a matter of time. Everyone was in on the hunt for different reasons, from utter greed to promotions. Ordinary Californians were parched for the money, to reporters Trey was hot news, and to detectives, busting Trey was a sure career boost.

And with every passing second, his legroom shrank more and more, cutting his chances of escape.

In desperation, Trey made himself calm down and remember his training. He could remember his trainer’s voice in his mind: “Before running, first know how they plan to catch you. Otherwise, you’ll run straight into them. You need to be au fait with their thinking, conversant with their traps, familiar with their weaknesses and cognizant of their strengths. Then and only then, you can run. Otherwise, it’ll just be a matter of time before they catch you.”

“It’s just a matter of time,” that was their thinking.

All over sudden, Trey was the springboard to promotions, recognition, headlines and money. No one really cared whether he was guilty or innocent, and for what? It didn’t matter. The harsh fact of the matter was, it was simply not their job to determine his culpability or innocence. That was the jury’s job.

And not caring about Trey’s innocence was their weakness, because it blinded them from looking for the real culprit.

Road inspections throughout LA had been beefed up, with vehicles on all major thoroughfares undergoing painstaking inspection involving sniffer dogs. The same had been replicated at the airports and subways.

To get out, he needed more than a whizzo plan.

He branched off North Alameda Street and headed to one particular dark backstreet. He had no choice but to get around the law. After five minutes, he reached his destination.
It was a dark, narrow and heavily littered alley between two tall deserted buildings. But more specifically, the filth that sullied the forsaken street was no household trash – he spotted several used syringes. He was in a gangland, the haven of lawbreakers and no longer in the “city of angels.”

Through his windshield, he could see gaudily dressed prostitutes, shamelessly smoking and waiting for business.

Trey parked his dark-green SUV and got out.

One of the girls, Hispanic, slim, pretty, wearing a skintight red basque with a couple of glitzy bracelets and a gold necklace, saw him first. With an engaging smile, she leisurely cat-walked towards him, artistically stepping with her matching red stilettos, working her charm, trying to entice him.

Trey remained stoic.

After getting close enough, she leaned on the hood and said, “Call me Rosa.”
“Hi Rosa.”
“What can I do for you?” She asked with her left hand playing with her hair.
“That’s what I’d like to find out.”
She thought for a moment before responding with a contagious smile, “I can do anything for you, baby.”
“Good to know,” he smiled back.
“But of course, it depends.”
“With what?”
“How loaded you are,”she said touching a button on his shirt.
“I’m loaded alright, don’t worry about that,” he responded confidently.
“Seriously, how big is your budget?” She asked with her head seductively tilting to the left.
“Three to seven.”
“Three to five what - grand?”
“Uh-hmm.”
“Loaded and a smooth talker huh, I like the combination.”
“But of course as you said, it depends.”
She cracked up. He was good.
“Four grand?” She asked, trying to commit him to a price.
“What, it’s too little?” He joked.
“Actually it’s way, way way generous.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s not usual.”
“And who said I’m usual?” He challenged her.
Rosa was now intrigued, she liked this one. She couldn’t read him.
“Sorry to disappoint you sugar, there’s no one unusual on this street. Once you stepped into this part of town, it kinda spelt out what you were in the market for Mr. Unusual.”
“Believe me when I tell you, what I’m in the market for will shock you.”
“Really?” She teased him but was also eager to find out what it was.
“Really.”
“Okay, I’m ready. Shock me handsome, what’s this unusual that you so want me to give you?”
“Slight correction there; it’s something you can do for me.”
“Fine Englishman, tell me your unusual.”
Trey stepped closer to her, and whispered into her ear. The other girls were watching them.
After the whisper, she looked at him then asked, “You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Okay.”
The girl robotically turned then imitated Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice in the movie Terminator: “I’ll be back.”

* * *

“Didn’t I tell you this door is for emergencies only?” Juliana asked furiously after Rosa had repeatedly knocked on her back door. Juliana’s house was the hub of the underworld, as well as the second home to a mean, dirty cop named Wolf.

Wolf relished in harassing, assaulting and demanding bribes from Rosa and other illegals. Wolf was the mayor of the gangland and because of his status, every night he reveled in free booze supplied at Juliana’s house. And though Juliana undoubtedly felt the pinch of pampering the dirty cop, they had an unwritten symbiotic understanding. From time to time, Wolf provided reliable tip offs on ATF, INS or other government impending raids on the cast off society.
“Ilo siento, Juliana.”
“Que quieres?”
“Nothing.”
“Rosita, are the police after you again?” This time her tone was much lower.
“No. Actually, I’m the one after the police,” Rosa smiled.
“What are you saying child?” Juliana asked with her hands akimbo.
“Is Wolf in?”
“Yes, why?”
“I’ve brought him his money.”
“He’s asleep like a dead man. You know, just lying there with no clothes on. He has no respect for my house.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll just wake him up.”
“Okay.”
Rosa avoided the living room, made her way through the kitchen and headed straight to the guest bedroom. There he was with a tummy of a nine-month pregnant woman, stretched on top of the bed with only his boxer shorts on, snoring like a well fed chubby baby. His police pants and shirt were lying on the floor, as his police cap and car keys rested on the bedside stool. Wolf had recently reported Rosa’s sister, Sophia, to the INS which saw her deported back to Mexico the previous week. Sophia’s mistake? She had been late with Wolf’s weekly bribe. But that didn’t mean Rosa was happy about it.

Slowly, she closed the door behind her, tiptoed to an open closet on the wall, and gently picked up a gym bag lying at the bottom. Then she turned and picked up the police pants and shirt and stashed them in the bag. Turning to her left, she spotted the car keys and police cap on the stool. Furtively, she tiptoed to the side of the bed and gathered the keys in her palm. Suddenly, Wolf mumbled something. Rosa’s heart almost gave out, but he was still sound asleep. Finally, she grabbed the cap. It was time to go.

With her eyes still focused on Wolf, she tiptoed backwards, with the gym bag in her right hand as her left stretched behind her towards the door, to avoid smashing into it. At last, her middle finger felt the door and slowly she turned, opened the door carefully, and left getting out of the house the same way she came in, avoiding the cramped living room - avoiding eyewitnesses. By the time Wolf would figure out what had hit him, she’d be miles away.


23


Know how they plan to catch you.
Regardless of the risk, Trey had to call her just to ease her anxiety. Ever since he arrived in the city of angels, he hadn’t spoken to her. And he knew she was going crazy, worrying about him because of the things that were being aired about him. He’d literally become the news, with every news agency running a special feature on him.
He took out his cell phone and made the call.
“Hello?
“Uh, Trey, are you alright?” She answered with great enthusiasm.
“Yes, I’m good.”

* * *

In the meantime, back at the Federal Building, Brett had returned from Rendell’s house to concentrate on finding Trey. Shirley and Jack were still busy at their desks searching. Eventually, their efforts paid off when Shirley traced a call.
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed.
Everyone turned to Shirley.
“It better be good,” Brett said, with his interest evoked.
“It is good. I’ve just intercepted Trey’s call. I’m now triangulating. We should have his calling location in just a bit.”
“Good work Shirley, who is he calling?”
“Who else?”
“I knew it. Robin Ironside is his weakness. Running and romance don’t mix. Put the call on speaker, we’re all dying to hear.”
Immediately, Trey’s phone conversation became audible to everyone in the vast open office.
“You’re all over the news, the police are looking for you, there’re road blocks everywhere, how will you come back?” She asked with great concern.
“Don’t worry,” Trey said reassuringly.
“Is it true what they’re saying about your attorney, that somebody shot him?”
“Yes it’s true.”
His wife says you were at his house this morning.”
“Yes, to talk.”
“She claims she saw you beat him up at his gate from her bedroom window.”
“I shook him up a bit but that was it. I left him and drove away.”
“She also says she saw you fleeing from the house when she returned to pick a file. That’s when she found her husband dead.”
“Forget what she’s saying. I didn’t shoot anybody. I don’t have much time, I gotta go.”
“Please take care.”
“I love you mom.”
“I love you too son.”
The line went dead and everyone in the office was left speechless. The master of deception had fooled everyone yet again. They had all assumed Trey was speaking to Robin.
“This guy’s good.”
Shirley blurted and everyone immediately scowled at her as if yelling: “What’s wrong with you? Which side are you on anyway?”
Sensing the hostility because of her remark, she rephrased.
“I meant he’s good in a bad way…okay not that, I mean he’s brilliant in a…”
“Shirley!”
Brett fumed at her and she shut up at once. But all was not lost, they had his location.
It was just a matter of time.

* * *

The dark-green Ford Explorer was once again on North Alameda Street burning rubber, and the FBI had linked in satellite feeds, the traffic cameras on the street and all other roads joined to it. It was all being relayed in real-time on the gigantic monitor at the Wilshire Federal Building. There was absolutely no way out for Trey. The circle had become smaller and it was just a matter of time.

Shirley had already gotten a visual on the dark-green Ford and everyone was watching it cruise on the big screen..
“He thinks he’s the super smart Harrison Ford in The Fugitive. In that case, let him outsmart the real-life FBI and LAPD, blazing with guns. Jack? Get the chopper! ”Brett called out.
Jack grabbed the phone and within no time a pilot was warming up his helicopter.
“Capt. Beryl Heffner on standby,” Jack said after about a minute. Brett leaned into a mouthpiece to relay the instructions to the pilot.
“Captain, I need you to pursue Trey Woodley, wanted for kidnapping and murder, in a dark-green Ford Explorer on North Alameda heading south. Our guess is, he’s fleeing the city and we need you to stop him. Can you do that?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’m sending his details to your monitor. And captain?”
“Yes?”
“We need him alive.”
“Rodger that.”

* * *

On the ground, the police had spotted the Ford and their sirens were blaring and warning lights flashing. The SUV couldn’t continue on the tarmac for too long, it had to branch immediately. It veered off North Alameda and took East Imperial Highway for a while before ditching it to take a lonely narrow dirt road. The road was well encompassed by trees on each side with the branches forming a thick canopy over it.
Suddenly, the big screen inside the FBI headquarters lost a visual.
“What happened!?” Brett shouted.
“It’s a smaller road,” Shirley answered, “no cameras.”
The SUV had entered Lynwood territory and with the police chase cars considerably a distance behind it, the only chance was to abandon the Ford and disappear in the woods, Vietnam style.

As the SUV rolled to a stop, a thundering FBI helicopter descended from heaven like an alien invader, with its pounding gigantic rotor blades blowing up leaves and litter as they sliced the air. The helicopter hovered next to the Ford.
“Step out of the vehicle with your hands over your head immediately. I repeat, get out of the vehicle now!” Capt. Heffner bellowed through a horn speaker. The driver’s door opened as Brett and his friends at the FBI building were on the edge of their seats waiting to hear the good news.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Captain?” Brett responded quickly.
“Are you seeing this?”
“No, we’ve been cut off. What is it?”
“I’ve got a woman here, looks like a prostitute,” the voice said through the speaker.
“Are you kidding me? Does Trey sound like a woman to you?”
The captain was wasting precious time as Trey slithered away.
“I didn’t send you up there to chase after women. Get back in the air and follow that road, there’s got to be another dark-green SUV on it. If he manages to flee the city because you messed up, I’ll have your head as decoration on my office wall, you hear me captain?” Brett yelled.
“Yes sir.”
“Leave the woman and get back in the air now. The woman is not the suspect. I repeat the woman is not the suspect.”
“Roger that.”
Rosa stared in amazement as the helicopter unexpectedly flew off. As if that wasn’t astonishing enough, the long line of police cars that had been pursuing her sped past her as she watched with her hands still up in the air.

Once in Mexico, she’d sell the dark-green Ford for four grand then give Sophia the cash to start a business. She got back into the SUV, reversed and flattened the accelerator heading in the opposite direction.

* * *

On 101 Hollywood Freeway, there was a major, major crackdown. The police were in full gear, swinging rifles and pulling dogs. A police car overtook a long line of vehicles awaiting inspection and approached the roadblock. An officer at the roadblock pulled the barrier for the oncoming police car to pass.
“Have a good one, officer,” he said to his counterpart in the police car.
“You too, officer,” Trey said, driving past the barrier, wearing the police uniform that Rosa had swiped from Juliana’s house.

Now that LA was no longer habitable for him, he had no chance to find out the truth about the people who killed Brooke. Moreover after learning about Brooke’s secretive nature, he had lost all the motivation to have anything to do with her. For the moment, his greatest concern was to protect Robin Ironside. He would find out more about Al Fakir from San Francisco with the help of his new found ally. He was headed to San Francisco, to join his crew, Robin and Audrey. But reaching his final destination, he’d have to make several stops in order to evade law enforcement agency. He stepped on the gas.


24


Nicole parked her yellow Volkswagen Passatt across 2nd street in Lakewood, Long Beach. She was pursuing the two men with bogus names that she’d met at the junkyard, first in the company of agent Charles from San Francisco then later with Brett. After sketching the face, Shirley ran it through a facial recognition software, after which identifying their real names and pinpointing their hideout was a piece of cake. And the good thing was their location was in Long Beach within Los Angeles County. So it appeared, they were based in LA but they had temporarily set camp in San Francisco to take care of Ironside, and though the contractor was still in San Francisco hunting down Robin Ironside, the coordination of their operations was happening right in Brett Dawson’s backyard.

It was a new building awaiting interior final touches, currently vacant.

After taking a moment at the door to look around, she entered the big, empty, unpainted and unfurnished hall.

Nicole took the stairs and on the first floor, stumbled upon a laptop on a wooden table. It was counting down in some kind of total-erasure program. She ran to the table and tried shutting the laptop down, but she couldn’t.
“A laptop is self-destructing and I can’t stop it,” in a panicky voice, she hurriedly told Shirley over the phone.
“Which type?”
“A Mac.”
“Give me a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute Shirley! Come on, only 27% is remaining,” she urged.
“Is it possible for you to read me the IP address?”
“No, nothing is showing on the screen except the percentage of completed system wipe out.”
“How much data is remaining?”
“21%, we’re losing everything, what should I do?”
“Smash it.”
“What! Are you crazy?”
“You have no choice, stop wasting time and do it right now,” Shirley shouted over the phone.
Immediately, Nicole grabbed the laptop, hurled it to the floor and the Apple product died instantly.
“Done it, now what?”
“You did great,” Brett said, coming in from the Los Angeles Federal Building.
“I hope I didn’t total the hard drive.”
“I hope so too.”
“What’s up?”
She could tell there was something Brett wanted to tell her.
“Your dad.”
“You sound scared… more like you need me?” She asked feeling good about herself. She relished such times when Brett needed her help.
“I’m not scared of your dad and just that we’re clear – I don’t need you,” Brett tried to rationalize.
“Whatever. The fact that you’re emphasizing means you so need me.”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“You bet I am.”
“See you when you get back.”
As soon as Brett hung up, Jack was on him.
“What is it?” He asked.
“A cop has reported his police car stolen.”
Brett chuckled, “Is that even possible?”
“Wonders never end,” Jack said lightly.
“Where?”
“Somewhere close to North Alameda.”
“How long ago?”
“Like two hours ago.”
“Two hours? And I’m hearing about it now!” Brett shouted at Jack.

To learn about Trey’s trick two hours late was a real kick in the teeth. “Get the police car’s GPS marker and initiate a search. Also APB all checkpoints and highway patrol officers with specifications of the car, and call off the air support.”

* * *

The stolen police car pulled outside a convenience store, the officer got out, quickly popped the hood and removed the radiator cap before walking into the store. After getting into the store, he picked up an egg and a pack of mints then walked to the cashier’s counter to pay for the two. Afterwards, he carefully wrapped the egg in a handkerchief, then put the egg in his shirt pocket and asked to see the store’s manager. The cashier pointed to a door and stared at the strange cop in bewilderment as he walked to the door and pushed into the manager’s office.
“Sorry for barging in,” the officer told the manager.
“Oh,” the manager said, reacting to the uniform, “Is something wrong officer?”
“No. I need your help.”
“Have a seat.”

* * *
But who else was like Shirley?
Within minutes she tracked down the police car and notified Brett right away.
“He’s at a convenience store. Its properly listed and I’m dialing the manager now.”
“Brach Paare,” said the voice on the line.
“My name is agent Brett Dawson with the FBI.”
As soon as he heard FBI, Brach looked up; something was up, something big.
“There’s a police car outside your store,” Brett said slowly.
“Yes?” He too responded slowly, cautiously, not knowing what was following.
“Now listen to me carefully and do as I say. The officer in your store is an imposter. He’s a wanted man…”
“Trey Woodley?” The manager interjected.
“Yes, but just act normal. We need you to stall him as much as you can…”
“Its too late for that,” Brach sighed and twisted in his chair as he finished off, “He’s already gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes,” he answered scratching his head.
“I’m currently looking at real-time satellite images of a police car outside your store, what do you mean he’s gone?”
“He took my pick-up truck.”
“He stole your truck?”
“I gave it to him...”
“You what!” Brett snapped.
“He came in here in a uniform and told me he was pursuing a fugitive but his car had stalled. How was I supposed to know he was a fake?”
“Alright,” Brett frowned, “Give me the car details.
Donny Anderson who had been following the investigation, was waiting to debrief Brett over the fiasco and Brett expected Anderson to be nothing but ruthless, brutal even, during the debrief. Nonetheless, Nicole would be there to mitigate. She’d be his only cushion.
But none of them had any idea of the shock awaiting America. They were yet to unveil the real masterminds, fathom the real threat and prepare for Ionshaker. Soon they’d no longer be concerned about Trey, but something far, far much worse. And when the time came, they’d be shaken to the core.


25


Trey was crisscrossing in Bakersfield, looking for something around. After ten minutes of exploring, he stopped outside a small weird bar dedicated to hardcore Goth freaks.
The bar had an artificial skull hinged on the door with vivid skeletons, bones, graves and ghosts paintings forming the interior decor. The bar had been fittingly titled “Phantom District.”

Parked outside the bar, were two gleaming souped up black motorcycles. Their ignition keys had been left unplugged, as the owners, two baldheaded - one skinny and the other a huge, heavily tattooed, with bushy beard, wearing black leather jeans, bandannas around their necks and sleeveless jackets stenciled with scary stuff, sat on the front porch drinking as they watched over their treasured machines.

On the door plate was a warning sticker: “Civilian Advisory: Strictly civilians only.” Still in full police uniform, Trey snobbishly walked past the two gawking punks and entered the bar. They looked at him with hate in their eyes.

He walked straight to the counter, sat on one of the tall stools and arrogantly banged his car keys on the counter. It was more like he was challenging everyone in the bar.
“Didn’t you read the sign?” the bartender asked.
He turned around and yelled out, to nobody in particular, “I’m gonna get wasted in your little freak bar and you can’t do nothing to stop me!”
Everyone in the bar wondered which kind of an officer is this?
“Sir…” The bar tender said.
“What?” he retorted then added, “Give me a double vodka, straight up,” he replied coolly.
He was pushing it, really pushing it and he didn’t care if he was rattling a snake.
Perhaps he had a death wish, the bartender thought. But he processed the order and shoved the glasses down the counter. Without hesitation, Trey picked up the first glass, knocked it back then banged it on the counter with a frown on his face, clenching his teeth as if he’d just swallowed pee. Then he grabbed the second glass and quaffed it the same manner as the first one, his audience watching him in amazement.

Then he pushed the two empty glasses back to the bartender, inadvertently knocking his car keys further away. The bartender noticed, but Trey apparently didn’t.
“Is that all the poison you got? Where’s your round two?”

The bartender studied him for a while then took his sweet time to fill up round two and when he was just about to hand Trey the drinks, the overconfident officer clunked his head on the counter.

The bartender whistled. It was a cue.

The bigger one immediately entered the bar and walked to the counter. The bartender gestured to the car keys and the punk grinned as he grabbed the keys.

He headed to the officer’s truck pick-up truck by his buddy. It was time to teach the ignorant officer – even freaks need their respect. In the next couple of seconds, the white Ford F250 double cab came to life and roared away.

About a minute after the freaks drove off, Trey looked up from the counter and stared straight into the bar tender’s eyes. The bartender seemed guilty of something, and didn’t ask him to pay for the Vodkas. Trey gathered his energies and staggered out of the bar, but to everyone’s surprise, as soon as the officer stepped out of the bar, he lost the drunken gait and rushed to one of the motorcycles. Quickly, he put on the helmet, straddled the two-wheeled motor-powered vehicle, turned the ignition key, and impelled the shiny black death machine to thunder away.

The sudden drunkenness had all been a pretense. Nonetheless, even the two glasses had the ability to mess him up. He needed to rid himself of the liquor before it took over his mental faculties.

After winding two bends, he pulled over by the roadside, took out the egg from his shirt pocket and gently cracked its shell against the handle. The sight of the raw egg yolk nauseated him; he hadn’t eaten an egg since when he was five. He thought they were slimy and repulsive.

He closed his eyes and poured the fresh egg yolk into his mouth.
Arghhh yuck!

The sudden repulsion, the sickening urge erupting from the base of his abdomen, could not permit the viscous yolk to roll down his alimentary canal. Immediately, he vomited the egg and the rest of his stomach content as well.

After it was done, he wiped his chin with the handkerchief, threw a couple of mints into his mouth, put his helmet back on and started rolling again with a killer speed.
Destination: Fresno.

* * *

The two bikers were cruising on 4101 Truxtun Avenue in Bakersfield and the thrill of driving the stolen pick-up was exhilarating.
“Woohoo!” shouted the skinny one.
“Yeah baby!” shouted the other, throwing empty beer cans at other motorists, recklessly overtaking and cutting right in front of other vehicles.
Then, out of the blue, a thundering black FBI helicopter descended on them.
“FBI. Pull over immediately. I repeat, pull over immediately.”
But looking ahead in front of them, was a dirt road branching from the tarmac. They knew the terrain well enough and thought that if they got to the junction, there was no way the FBI could stop them. So, they accelerated.

Don’t these idiots know that aircraft are generally faster than vehicles? Brett thought from the helicopter. The helicopter flew over the truck to hover at the junction they were aiming for.
“Pull over immediately or else we’ll light you up.”
The helicopter was directly in front of them, blocking all vehicles, waiting for them at the junction. It was game over.
The driver hit the brakes and turned the steering wheel, but the momentum was too high to let up on such short notice.
The two hoodlums closed their eyes and waited for the bang, but the chopper lifted up in time to dodge the truck.
“Put your hands where I can see them. Do it now!” Brett ordered, hopping off the chopper with his gun aimed at the pick-up.
The two bikers placed their hands on the dashboard.
“Where is the owner of this truck?”
“At the bar!”
They shouted unanimously.
“Bar?”
“Yeah, Phantom District. He came in for a drink and passed out on the counter.”
“And how did you get the key?”
“He stole it when the officer got knocked out,” admitted the skinny one sheepishly.
“Where’s the bar?”
“Bakersfield.”
“Get in the chopper, you’re coming with us! And he better be there...”
Brett then raised his wrist to speak into a transmitter.
“All units proceed to Bakersfield. The suspect is in a bar called Phantom District. I repeat, the bar is called Phantom District.”


26


Welcome to Joey’s Car Dealership, read the big billboard in Fresno. Trey branched from the highway to enter the car lot.

It was crammed with a range of vehicles from monster trucks to three-wheelers. He took off the helmet and walked to the manager’s office. The manager and his office assistant were going over something on a computer at the small reception counter.
“Hello officer?” the manager greeted, looking up.
“Hello.”
“You’re interested in our merchandise?”
“No, I’ve come to see you.”
“Let’s step into my office.”
“Actually, I prefer talking outside. There’s something I want you to see.”
“Oh?” the manager sounded unsure.
Trey led the manager to the motorcycle.
“Yours?”
“You like it?”
“Well yeah. It’s very new, worth a pretty penny,” the manager chuckled.
“I’d like to sell it – I’m thinking three grand,” Trey said.
“Three grand?” Then after a while he added, “You know, if you weren’t a cop...” He paused then continued, “Its not like I’m suspecting it’s not yours or anything, I’m just curious, why are you selling such a beautiful piece?”
“My son. You know teenagers.”
“But you’re the one who bought it?” The manager challenged him.
“I know how it sounds. You must be wondering why I bought it for him in the first place.”
“You read my mind.”
“Well, I don’t know how else to put it, I was trying to buy his affection. When I got his mother pregnant in high school, my folks transferred me and she was forced to raise the boy alone with her parents. But this year I made peace with them and we started living together though my son was against it. So here I am. He used to be a quiet kid but all over sudden he’s become popular, hangs out with the wrong crowd, underground racing tournaments and I know if I don’t do something drastic right now, he’ll get in a lot of trouble.”
“I totally get you. You know what my thirteen year old wants? Implants. Just imagine! When her mother and I asked her why, you know what she told us? It’s cool and we’re old.”
“Kids…” Trey said, shaking his head.
“Anyways back to business, how do you want us to do this?”
“Cash,” Trey replied a little too quickly, making the manager uneasy.
“Okay let’s go fill some paperwork.”
Trey followed him but after a few steps, began patting his pockets.
“Oh, man!”
“Something wrong?”
“You’re not gonna believe it. I left in such a hurry that I forgot my wallet with everything in it.”
“That’s going to complicate things,” the manager said, raising an eyebrow.
“But it’s okay. You don’t have to give me the three grand right away. I’ll take two for now, then pick up the balance when I come back with my ID.”
The manager wasn’t thrilled, but hey, if the cop disappeared, business-wise it was a great deal; he’d have bought it for two grand instead of three. They entered the manager’s office, and soon afterwards, Trey left the dealership on foot but loaded with cash.
He strolled for about ten minutes, then entered a men’s outfit store where he bought a new pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and a cap. When he left the store, he was a new man.
He entered a telephone booth right across the store, opened the directory and skimmed through searching for an address. He got it, ripped the whole page and stopped a passing lady to ask directions.
It was 3:28pm on the city clock when he entered Teresa Funeral Services and walked to the morgue’s reception lobby.
“Good afternoon sir,” the lady greeted him.
“Good afternoon. How much is a hearse to San Francisco?”


27


Brett had called off the search, flown back and found Nicole waiting. He knew chasing Trey on a motorcycle would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Why? Because even if they knew the exact make and license of the motorcycle Trey had stolen, Brett knew Trey wasn’t an idiot. He would ditch the motorcycle sooner rather than later.
He had a bigger issue to worry about other than Trey. His job.
They were immediately summoned by Anderson.
“This Trey situation is out of hand.”
“We’re doing everything sir,” Nicole promised.
“Do you even have a clue of where he is?” Anderson started off easy.
“We believe he’s headed to San Francisco,” Brett said.
“What beats me is how just an ordinary man trounced an entire team of experienced detectives with a ton-load of resources at their disposal. You know what that tells me Brett? You’re not half as seasoned as I thought you were. And you know what follows…?”
“No dad. You can’t replace him,” Nicole interrupted.
“I can’t - are you sure? All he ever does is smile for the cameras and issue empty threats. Up to now, you two don’t have even a single name, because even this Trey you are seeking, you want him to help you get a name because you believe its not him. And you expect me to keep the same sloppy detective in charge? Sweetheart – I can and I will.” Anderson said with all seriousness. The gloves were starting to come off.
“I’m not saying it doesn’t look bad. But believe me, Brett is the right person for the job,” Nicole continued.
“Oh really?” Anderson mocked.
Brett was quiet as his defense attorney did the heavy lifting.
“We believe this is greater than just capturing a fugitive.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes sir,” Brett resurfaced. What kind of man would he be to let Nicole fight the entire battle? A weak man. And he didn’t want to appear that way, especially in Anderson’s eyes.
“We believe some kind of a powerful underground network is trying to cover up something bigger and Trey is just a fall guy.”
“Then why is he running? Why can’t he come to us and explain?”
“Because he believes staying off the grid is the only way he can protect Robin Ironside.”
“And why does Robin Ironside need protection? I mean who is she?”
“We don’t know sir. We’re still trying to piece everything together.”
“See why I have to take you off this case? You don’t have answers to the important questions and I need someone with answers, so that when Guy Jorgo summons me and asks me the same questions I’m asking you, I don’t look like a crackpot.”
“Please sir, I just need a little more time.”
“You’re off the case. You’ve wasted precious time, got the media meddling in our affairs, squandered valuable resources and still got nothing. You’re a drag Brett, and I can’t afford to keep you on the case.”
“We have a mole dad,” Nicole Butt in.
The two men instantly turned to Nicole. Even Brett hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Are you crazy Nicky?” Her father asked with a flushing scowling face.
“No I’m not crazy. Some sort of mysterious network behind everything that has been happening has infiltrated this field office, that’s why we’ve been unable to apprehend anybody.”
Nicole was not mincing her words.
“Do you have any idea of the seriousness of your allegation?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“And can you substantiate?”
“Today I was following up on a lead and I had the precise location but before I got there, the suspects were tipped off. All I was able to recover was a self-destructing laptop. That’s why you can’t reassign the case, we simply can’t trust anyone.”
She made a good point. Brett was quiet; Nicole had managed to get her father’s attention. Nevertheless, Anderson needed a name.
“I understand, but I’m also under pressure from Guy Jorgo.”
He said slowly and calmly. They understood where he was coming from.
“I have a meeting with Brooke’s shrink this evening. She admitted to me earlier today that she’s in bed with the network though she couldn’t say much in her office, it’s bugged. So, we’re just asking for this evening. By tomorrow you’ll have a name to give to Guy. Please dad. He’s been on the case since its inception and I promise we’re gonna get you something worthwhile.”
Anderson exhaled heavily.
“You have this evening. This evening only.” Then he raised his voice, and looked at Brett. “If you don’t give me something by tomorrow morning, kiss this case goodbye.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brett replied quickly before Anderson changed his mind.
“Now get out of my office.”
They quickly shot to their feet, Trey being the first to exit.
“Nicole, a second…”
She turned and paused at the door.
“About this meeting, I can find somebody else to go.”
“No, Dad.”
“You said it yourself, it’s not just one person we’re up against, it’s an underground network and if they get wind of the meeting, things could get ugly.”
“Are you being a lousy detective or a concerned father?”
“The latter I guess,” he smiled.
“Thanks for worrying. But we both know if I don’t show up, she won’t talk and besides, we’ll have a full tactical team in place just in case.”
“Your mother wasn’t so stubborn, where did you get your big head Nicky?” he joked.
She smiled, said, “I love you, “ closed the door behind her and went straight to Brett’s office.
“You owe me big time partner,” she said with a smile storming in.
“How much?” Brett replied coldly.
“A lot.”
“Credit card, check or cash.”
“What are you talking about?” Nicole wondered. It was supposed to be a joke.
“Means of payment. You said I owe you.”
“Sometimes a simple thank-you-Nicole might do the trick,” she hinted with a warm smile.
She was serious; she just wanted a little appreciation for her input back in Anderson’s office.
“Oh, that should be cheap. Then, thank-you-Nicole. Are we even now?” He asked rather rudely.
Brett and Nicole were on totally different planets.
“Seriously Brett?”
She was hurt by his insensitivity. But there was still time to make her smile, if he carefully chose the next words to come out of his mouth.
“Seriously what? I told you what you wanted to hear, didn’t I?”
“I just saved your butt in there, what is your problem?” She asked starting to get angrily.
“Yeah maybe that’s the problem.” Brett’s replied.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No I’m not. I don’t need you defending me,” he replied harshly.
“Why because it makes you look weak? If it weren’t for me you’d be off this case,” she said with her voice beginning to skyrocket.
“You really think you’re that important to my job?” He asked stepping closer to her.
“Good question, well answer me this - who called the other for back up because they were scared to face their boss…alone? Jerk.” Nicole yelled and furiously stormed out of Brett’s office.
What a day? Brett wondered then slapped his palm on the wall in frustration. He had no leads, he had lost Trey, he was on the verge of loosing the investigation, and last but not least – he had lost his one and only true ally.
But that was just the beginning, the shaking had just started and more was yet to come.


28


The fully equipped black GMC covert operation van had been parked on 14103 Street, and the tactical team had taken cover on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, lurking in the darkness of the night, their riffles aimed down at the park, wearing night vision glasses, listening to their transmitters, waiting for the word.

The game plan was simple. Brett and Jack would remain in the van to monitor the park and Nicole, and Shirley would be the operation’s third eye, monitoring the whole thing on the big screen back at the office.

That evening, Nicole wore a white T-shirt under a light jacket with blue jeans. She’d also donned gold earring transmitters and a matching gold necklace with a heart-shaped locket – a decoy video camera.
“Can you hear me?” she asked Jack who was busy cross-checking the transmissions.
“Yes Nicky.”
“What about video?” She asked waving her palm across the locket.
“It’s perfect.”
Nicole’s palm was visible on multiple screens.
“7:50, it’s time to go,” Brett said after being quiet for a while. Since the little mishap in Brett’s office, things were still a little awkward between them.
“Sit close to the street and remember she needs to give you names.”
Totally ignoring Brett, she hopped from the back of the van, crossed the street, entered the park, saw an empty bench and sat on it. Glancing at her wrist watch, it was 7:53pm; she had to be patient for seven more minutes.
Everything seemed normal as a cool breeze blew through her hair.
“Here we go; a woman is approaching from your left. Don’t turn, be calm, let it be a surprise,” she heard Jack’s voice through the transmitters.
“Copy that,”Nicole replied.
“You’re early,” Jordin said sitting next to Nicole, with her eyes still surveying the park.
“It’s good practice to be early for appointments.”
“Tell that to my patients.”
An awkward moment elapsed.
“I had rehearsed how I’d begin but clearly that didn’t help. So I’ll just skip to the end,” Jordin broke the silence.
“Fine with me.”
“There’s a group calling itself Al Fakir…”

As soon as Jordin started, Shirley came in urgently, “A black van is coming in hot from your north, with two masked men aiming guns at your bench. Get down now!”
But it was too late. The van was already passing by the bench and before Nicole could even flinch, she was hit from the back, instantly dropped to the ground like a log, and remained there face-down, motionless.

In the meantime, the snipers were firing at the fast disappearing van as Brett sped across the street like a man infected with mad cow disease. He quickly knelt next to Nicole and grabbed her calling out her name in panic.
“Nicole, Nicole. Nicky!”
He sincerely hoped she was still alive as he called and shook her.
“I’m good. I wore a vest,” Nicole finally opened her eyes as Brett sat down on the grass with her head in his arms. He so wanted to make her feel safe.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“What! It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”
“No, I’m not talking about that.”
“What are you talking about?” Nicole asked sitting straight on the grass.
“Back at the office…” Brett started with mixed emotions. He wanted to revisit the awkward moment in his office. Finally, he was ready to open the Pandora’s box and tell her what he’d always held back ever since he first saw her, ever since he first head her voice, ever since he first smelled her perfume, and explain to her how she took his breath away each time she smiled at him, walked with him, and teased him. He was ready to confess everything.

As a personal shock, he realized firsthand that death or a near-death experience can shake someone to release all the bottled up feelings, and reveal deep-seated secrets, suppressed emotions and unspoken passions.

Yes, Nicole’s near-death had broken the emotional Ironman.

“How is she?” Nicole changed the subject, getting up and turning towards Jordan who was lying next to them in the grass, gaping at them with wide lifeless eyes. Trey stretched his left hand and gently brushed down his palm over Jordin’s eyelids to shut her eyes.
Afterwards, Brett helped Nicole to her feet, led her to his car and drove her home in dead silence, both of them internalizing the heavy stuff they had gone through during the day, plus dreading what would come the next morning – reassignment. A call on Brett’s phone interrupted the silence.
“Yes…Uh-huh...location…? Thanks a lot.”

Nicole tried to decode the phone conversation but she couldn’t. The call had been brief and specific.

Brett pulled over; they were outside Nicole’s apartment. Another awkward moment followed before Nicole finally turned to him to ask, “Was it Shirley?”
“Now you wanna talk to me?” Trey responded with another question.
“You’re the one who’s locked up inside your cocoon. I wish I’d been driven home by Jack or someone else. He’s a geek but at least he wouldn’t have given me the silent treatment,” she said turning away.
“Are you kidding me Nicole? I’m the one giving the silent treatment?” He asked in amazement.
“Yes Brett, you are,” she raised her voice.
“And who snubbed me back in the park, when I was going crazy thinking you were…”
He couldn’t say dead.
Softly Nicole answered, “I snubbed you because I knew what you were about to say.”
“Obviously, you knew what I was gonna say and didn’t wanna hear it.”
Brett looked away. This time, he was the one who was hurt.
“Of course I wanted to hear it, you idiot,” she gazed into his eyes.
“Then why did you stop me? Do you have any idea of the guts it takes a man to actually…?”
“I know, and especially for a man like you Brett.”
“Then why didn’t you wanna hear it?”
“Because I know you, and how you value your self-image and pride.”
“My self-image, my pride, what are you talking about?” He asked with a chuckle.
“You were still wearing your transmitter and if you’d said what I think you were about to say, the entire FBI would have heard you, and I know how you’d have hated that and eventually, you’d have ended up hating me instead of, you know…the opposite.”
“So you shut me down to save me from looking like a fool and ending up hating you instead of...”
“Yeah, that was the plan.”
They both turned away from staring at each other and after a moment of reflection, Brett laughed and said, “I’m such an idiot, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, especially when it comes to reading girls,” Nicole said with a light laugh.
“So where do we stand?” He turned to look at her.
“See? Still an idiot,” She answered smiling, still looking away.
“What now?”
“Of course I still wanna hear your lame poetry. You’re not getting off that easily on this one,”she turned.
Brett smiled then taking Nicole’s hand said,” I know I’ve been a jerk to you, but being a jerk and an idiot was my only strategy to bottle up my true feelings about you Nicky. Ever since you joined the field office, my life changed. I mean, there’ve been times I’ve wanted to run to you and tell you how pretty, loving, compassionate, supportive and a total pain you are,” Nicole laughed when he said she was a pain, “but I couldn’t because I was so scared of your dad. But when I saw you drop from the bench in that park, I hated myself for having been such a coward and a loser, and I swore to myself that if I found you were still alive, the first thing I’d do, would be to come clean with you. So what do you say agent Nicole?”
Slowly and reassuringly she said, “You can now stop being an idiot and a jerk to me.”
“That’s all you’re gonna say after I poured out my heart to you?” He smiled as he asked.
“A dose of your own pill Shakespeare. It doesn’t taste very sweet, does it?” She joked.
“Did I mention you were a pain?”
“Was that Shirley on the phone?”
“Playing hard to get, typical.”
“See? Your understanding of women is improving tremendously,” she said smiling.
“Yeah, it was Shirley. She has decrypted the data on the self-destructing laptop you recovered.”
“And?”
“She found a money trail between a German and an American company called ALIEC. She also discovered a form of nerve center for a network.”
“Where?”
“Hotel Rio in Bell.”
“And you were going to the hotel alone weren’t you?” she accused. Brett was quietly looked away.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“No way. Didn’t you see what just happened back there?” Brett turned to her.
“No, I was busy getting shot,” she retorted.
“You know what I meant,” he said softly.
“Then go with somebody, if not me,” she sincerely begged him.
“I can’t trust anybody else. They knew about the meeting. We have to face it Nicole, the bureau is compromised.”
They paused for a while. He was right, but the thought of him going to the hotel to face off with the network alone unsettled her.
“Be safe.”
She grabbed him and hugged him for a while, then kissed him on the cheek.
They both smiled, then she asked, “Does that answer your question?”
“I’m an idiot remember – I can’t tell,” he answered with a smile. She smiled, pecked him again on the cheek and got out of the SUV as he watched her cross the road until she disappeared into the apartment. He reversed.
Destination: Hotel Rio.


"I really hope you enjoyed reading Ionshaker Part I. But the story doesn't need to end. Please buy the complete eBook on Amazon for an affordable $2.99 only. And if you tell a friend about Ionshaker, it will be really help to create the so much needed awareness. Thanks a lot for giving me a chance and feel free to contact me."
Yours always,
Felix Timothy.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.11.2011

Alle Rechte vorbehalten