“We don’t have time for this,” Nancy said.
“She’s right,” Eric said. “We need answers and we need them now.”
“I’m an agent of the law,” Waverly said. “I won’t be party to any CIA dirty tricks.”
“We never said we were CIA,” Nancy said. “I’ll get the information out of him. Just stay out of my way.”
Lipfield sat on a metal chair and John watched his face. The man stared at him in abject terror. John didn’t disagree. He had seen himself in the mirror when dressed in the Battlesuit. The smooth face of the VISOR betrayed no emotion.
He looked fearsome. Monstrous.
I look like an inhuman killing machine.
The funny part was, Lipfield wouldn’t be wrong. The OTM had made him into something more than human, with almost unbreakable bones and vastly improved reflexes, and he used those enhancements to hurt people.
All in all, I’d rather be back with Valerie in the C17.
Lipfield’s eyes darted from him to Nancy, who was quickly approaching. Waverly and Eric followed Nancy, and Taylor, Mark, and Deion brought up the rear.
Nancy stopped in front of the pilot. “We need answers. Tell us about your passenger.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Lipfield said. “I have rights. I want to speak to my lawyer.”
“Do you even have a lawyer?” Nancy asked. She leaned forward and John saw her hand flexing. “Why do you think we’re here? What are you trying to hide?”
Buddy, if I were you, I’d answer.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lipfield said, his voice cracking. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Nancy sighed. “You’re boring me. John, shoot him in the kneecap.”
For a brief moment he wondered if she was kidding, but the tone of her voice was matter-of-fact, He knew that when she spoke like that, she was definitely not kidding.
He pulled his M11 and fired one round. It echoed inside the warehouse and the man screamed, his face going white, then he fell out of the chair and writhed in pain on the hard concrete floor.
“Jesus,” Waverly yelled and pulled his own gun, training it on him. “You can’t just shoot people!”
John stood perfectly still. He knew Waverly’s Glock stood little chance of penetrating the VISOR or his Battlesuit. He also knew that Waverly didn’t know that.
Eric started to speak, but Nancy cut him off. “Mark, if Waverly shoots, put him down.”
Mark Kelly nodded and aimed his HK416 at the tall FBI agent, his sad brown eyes betraying no emotion. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Nancy turned to Deion and Taylor. “Get this asshole back in the chair.”
Deion started to argue, but he clenched his jaw and with Taylor’s help, got Lipfield back in the chair.
Lipfield did not appear well. He gasped for air, obviously in great pain. The sound of his wheezing breath and constant moaning filled John’s VISOR.
“Would you like to try again?” Nancy asked.
“You shot me,” Lipfield croaked. “Who are you people?”
“Who was on your plane?” Nancy demanded.
“Mr. Kong,” Lipfield said. “His name is Liu Kong. He’s the CEO of the Serpentine Group.”
“Anyone else?” Nancy asked.
“No, just Mr. Kong.”
“Why weren’t you answering our questions? Did Kong tell you not to talk?”
Lipfield shook his head. “No. It’s because I’ve… I’ve got a record.”
“We didn’t find evidence of any arrests,” Eric said.
Lipfield looked down at his knee. Blood slowly oozed from the bullet wound and soaked his black slacks. “Mr. Kong made it go away. I got caught with some coke a few years back. No commercial airline will hire you with that on your record. Mr. Kong offered me a job. Said he could get my conviction buried. Look, I’m not a criminal. I just had a problem, that’s all. I never did anything wrong!”
“Where did Kong go?” Nancy asked. “Was he carrying anything? Did he have any luggage? Packages?”
Lipfield bit his lower lip. “He had a big box. A plastic case.” He held his hands apart, as wide as his shoulders. “About this big. He left with that case and his laptop. He was going to Nolensville.”
John was sitting in the back of Waverly’s Suburban as the FBI agent led the other vehicles south along Haley Industrial Drive, passing several manufacturing sites and warehouses on their way to Sakra Limited.
The morning sun was just beginning to dawn over the hills to the east, casting shades of orange and blue that looked almost neon in the VISOR’s display. Waverly and Eric were in the front, talking in hushed tones.
The FBI agent was not happy.
They had argued the five miles from the airport. Waverly was appalled by the gratuitous violence that Nancy had used questioning Lipfield, and Eric was explaining the threat from Liu Kong and how sometimes the end justified the means.
He hated to agree with Eric — he certainly hadn’t enjoyed shooting Lipfield — but in this case, Eric was right. They were faced with an imminent threat. Every life lost because they refused to make the hard choices would be on them.
The line of Suburbans pulled into the last parking lot before the road dead-ended in a turnaround. Sakra’s parking lot was empty except for a silver Toyota at the front.
Too early for the morning shift?
“This is it,” Eric said.
They climbed out of the vehicles and soon a handful of agents wearing jackets with giant yellow FBI letters joined the OTM members.
He saw the FBI agent’s curious glances and wondered what they thought of his armor.
Probably the same as Lipfield.
“Okay, our target should be in this building. There will most likely be a security guard monitoring the plant. Agent Waverly, if you would direct your men to barricade the parking lot? John,” Eric said, pointing at him, “will lead the way.”
Waverly shook his head. “We don’t have a warrant.”
“We don’t need a warrant,” Nancy said.
“I thought you said you weren’t CIA?”
Eric shook his head. “DHS doesn’t need a warrant in a case of imminent threat.”
“You’re not DHS,” Waverly muttered under his breath. He turned to the dozen agents standing around, watching the exchange. “You heard them. Get that barricade up.”
A pair of FBI agents positioned two of the Suburbans across the entrance to the parking lot, stringing yellow tape between them, while the other agents helped the OTM unload their gear and soon both OTM members and FBI agents were wearing bulletproof vests.
Eric turned to John. “We’re ready when you are.”
They approached the building and stopped at the glass-walled visitor’s entrance. A heavyset man in his thirties wearing a guard’s uniform was sitting at the front desk, his nose buried in a Harry Potter book.
John turned to Eric, who shrugged and tapped on the glass with his HK416. The guard didn’t look up and John realized he was wearing earbuds. He kicked the glass door with his prosthetic foot hard enough to shake the frame as well as the glass to each side.
The guard jerked and glanced up, did a double-take at the sight of the FBI agents and OTM members, and dropped his book on the desk. He stood on shaky legs and stumbled to the door. He turned the lock, hesitated, then opened the door. “Uh. Can I help you?”