Chapter 32
We humans fear the beast within the wolf because we do not understand the beast within ourselves. ~Gerald Hausman
Axel
Lucky and I lay flat on the itchy dune grass in the quiet of twilight. The ocean laps at the shore, a lone seagull cries, and the drone’s pilot curses as he lifts the plane into the bed of his black Ford pickup.
Zach, the FBI’s SWAT team leader, sounds in my headset. “ETA two minutes. We’ve arrived at the park entrance.”
Deputy Director Trescher adds, “Don’t let the suspect out of your sight, and for God’s sake, don’t shoot him, Wulf.”
Responding, I click my mic once and brace for action.
C’mon, c’mon.
The truck driver’s side door opens, and as he’s about to hop in, I aim Gwen’s sci-fi-like blaster.
While I take a deep breath, bright headlamps light up the parking lot, and a female voice shouts, “FBI! Show us your hands.”
Three fast blinks later, I regain my vision. Still in my crosshairs, the pilot leans into the front seat. Dammit. He’s reaching for a weapon. Suicide by cop? Not on my watch. As he bends his knee to swivel, I fire, and he crumples onto the sand.
“Goodonya, mate.” Lucky punches me in the arm and grins.
“I hope so.” While I pray the stun setting worked and I didn’t kill the asshole, the armed team inches forward.
The closest agent kicks a pistol from the pilot’s hand as another places a finger on his neck.
“He’s alive.” Once they lower their barrels, I speak into my chest. “Are we clear to approach?”
The guy in charge waves us to them. “Sure, come join the party.”
Rising to our feet, we brush off pine needles and stroll to the downed man.
“You blokes must’ve scared the piss out of him.” Lucky toes the body, and while the rest chuckle at his lame joke, I squat.
The Middle Eastern man rolls onto his back and as he grins, unease overcomes me. What the fuck does this guy find so amusing?
My chest tight, I consider the possibilities. “Lochlan, can a drone’s return-home feature be disabled?”
Before my friend can respond, Zach chimes in, “Yeah, we do it all the time, but only if we have no choice. You can easily lose your bird, and these things are expensive.”
Is it possible our enemies played us for fools? Shaken, I tap my mic. “Deputy Director, where is Congressman Rhinesmith?”
“At the president’s barbeque in Henlopen, why?”
“Callie and Gwen, are they safe?” My God, we ran off and left our women with strangers.
“Affirmative. They’re with the Secret Service.” His answer should relieve my worries, but a sixth sense tells me we’re missing something.
As I’m about to fire off more questions, a black Mercedes pulls into the parking lot beside us. A six-foot-two man in a dark suit exits, opens the back door, and points. “Captain Lochlan? Agent Wulf? Please come with me.”
He says it politely, but I’m guessing, refusal is not an option. Twenty minutes later, the vehicle stops in front of a typical multi-million dollar beach house. If not for the secret service agents everywhere, you’d never know it belonged to one of the most powerful leaders in the free world.
After I’m relieved of my weapons at the door, the entry guard dangles the RF pistol by his thumb and forefinger. “What the hell is this?”
“Need to know, sorry. Just don’t fire it at anyone, okay?”
Outside, me and Lucky follow another of the guards to the back of the house. As we wait by the pool, Callie and Gwen join us, champagne flutes in hand.
“What the fuc-”
“Gentlemen, thanks for coming.” The Commander-in-Chiefcuts me off and holds out his right hand. “I understand you had a little trouble on the boardwalk this evening. Where do we stand?”
No longer glaring at my fiancé, I greet the president. “The drone pilot has been arrested and is being taken to DC for questioning, sir.”
“Excellent.” The seasoned statesman whispers to a nearby agent, and a few seconds later, Rhinesmith joins us.
“Yes, Mr. President?”
The elder of the two claps the congressman on the back, grips him by the shoulder, and then directs him to sit at a picnic table in front of a laptop.
“Kevin, I want you to watch something.” After he hits enter, the traitor pales as the video shows him handing a thumb drive to Stephen Bourdeau, saying, “Take him out.”
Gwen’s eyes grow immense, and she grabs Callie’s arm. “That’s the man who shot Henry.”
Eyes glued to the screen, Rhinesmith sputters, “I meant take them out to d-dinner. This is entrapment.”
Ready to put an end to this farce, I extricate the memory stick from my pants. “I bet they had a lovely meal.”
The congressman’s face turns crimson. “Give me that. You had no business taking it. It contains matters of national security.”
He spins to face the president. “Sir, I demand they return the memory stick to me at once.”
I shrug and shove it back in my pocket. “It was only a couple thousand bucks, chill out.”
“What? It contained over a half-million, you moron.” When he realizes his mistake, he waves his hands in the air as if he could erase the words off a blackboard. “I meant, I have no idea what was on it. It could have been a freakin” billion dollars. How would I know?”
“You will resign, first thing tomorrow morning.” Our angry host points to a waiting officer. “Escort my guest to the door.”
“You cannot make me. I have friends who will protect me.” As he lunges toward the president, the agent who took the EMF weapon from me at the door fires at the congressman.
When he drops, the secret service agent speaks into his headset. “We need a doctor and an ambulance. Representative Rhinesmith might be having a heart attack.”
The grim faced president leans over the writhing man. “I suggest you cooperate. Be a damn shame if you died from another one.”