Delta
“She looked good,” Wilson remarked from nowhere after Garcia had pulled onto the highway, pointed towards Chicago.
“She did,” Garcia agreed.
“She’s put a little weight on, too. It looks good on her.”
“I won’t tell her you said that,” Garcia remarked. “Of course, I’m not the one in contact with her.”
Wilson chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure most women wouldn’t want to hear that anyone noticed they gained weight.” He ignored Garcia’s last comment.
Garcia nodded. “Even if it comes with a compliment that some body part looks fabulous because of the added weight, it’s not welcome.”
Wilson laughed again. “Sounds like the voice of experience. You stepped in it with Sienna, didn’t you?”
The corner of Garcia’s lip tipped up. “That I did.”
Wilson laughed harder. “I have to admit, before Sienna, I never saw you as relationship material.”
“I’m honored you considered me,” Garcia said dryly.
Wilson laughed again. He touched his own temple with his middle finger. “Right here.”
Garcia glanced over. The interior of the vehicle and Wilson were illumined just enough to make out the gesture. He chuckled. “I never thought I’d be in a relationship. Wouldn’t be if Sienna wasn’t a saint. She puts up with a lot.”
“It seems to me all the wives do,” Wilson said.
“Yes, it’s the job. And I’m sure we all bring our own unique challenges to our relationships, too.”
It was widely known on the team that Garcia was a workaholic, spent more hours at the office and working from home when he wasn’t deployed than anyone, except maybe Shepherd. Sienna truly was a saint, as far as Wilson was concerned. “I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about that. I like my life the way it is, thank you.”
“I know a few other guys on the team that have said that. Now they’re called husbands and fathers.”
Wilson emitted a sarcastic grunt and decided to change the subject. “So, if this next install goes as quickly as it’s supposed to, Tessman and I plan to head to Saint Thomas to go diving over the weekend.”
“Is that so?” Garcia remarked, noting Wilson hadn’t commented on his last statement.
“Yeah,” Wilson said.
***
The next morning as Reina left for work, she was met at her garage by the neighborhood busybody, Lorraine Newhouse, who’d been walking her dog but made a beeline directly to Reina when she was in view. For an old woman, Lorraine moved quickly. Lorraine was in her early eighties and didn’t even try to hide that she kept watch over the neighborhood. She openly sat at her windows with binoculars.
“Hello, Missus Newhouse,” Reina greeted.
“Reina, dear, please tell me those men didn’t stay all night. I fell asleep, and I didn’t see them leave last night. I wanted to be sure you were okay. You know, a young lady can’t be too careful. And eight p.m. is late to begin entertaining several gentlemen.”
Reina cringed. She hated anyone in her business. “Nothing to be concerned about, Missus Newhouse,” she assured the woman. “That was my cousin Jimmy and his coworker. They were in the area on work and just swung in for a quick visit.” She would have preferred to tell the old bitty to mind her own, but she knew this would be a faster conversation and she just bit the bullet.
“Your cousin?” she repeated.
“Yep, my cousin, Jimmy.”
“What kind of work does he do?” she pressed.
Reina considered what her answer should be for a moment. “Law enforcement. He and his colleague are DEA agents.”
“Oh, my, really?” she gasped.
“Yes, so as you can see, your concern was unwarranted. I’m late for work. I have to scoot. I’ll talk to you later. Have a great day, Missus Newhouse.”
And with that, she stepped to the door to the one-car garage, unlocked it, and disappeared behind it. Missus Newhouse was still standing near her garage when Reina backed out of it. She waved with a forced, sweet smile on her face after she’d closed the door, and then she backed out of her driveway. Kill them with kindness was a motto she followed.
She knew she shouldn’t have told the neighborhood gossip that Jimmy and Garcia were DEA agents, even though they were. Reina was sure Bruce was dealing, and she had enough experience around men who did to know. She was out of that life and was determined to stay clean. Maybe news that a relative was a DEA agent would deter the over-friendly creep.
As Reina drove to work, she again thought about the unexpected visit the previous night. Her lips drew into a smile when she recalled how Jimmy Wilson sat on the couch beside her. She was astonished at how kind he was to her when they first met, and she’d been shot. And the fact that he’d stayed in touch with her, as he’d promised, still amazed her. She’d never met anyone like him who seemed to want nothing from her. But if he had any intentions beyond the platonic interactions they had, he hadn’t shown it. She wasn’t sure she could call it a friendship, and she’d been at a loss to classify what they were. All she knew was that she liked that he was in her life.
She was even more surprised when she received a text message from Jimmy later that morning. “Hi, it was great to see you last night. You look good, Rae. You seem happy too. I don’t often get to see positive outcomes in my line of work. I’m glad you are one of the success stories. I’ll be in touch.”
Is that what she was? A success story? She didn’t really think of herself that way. She tapped out a quick reply to his text. “Thanks. It was great to see you last night, too. I’m glad you guys stopped by.”
Wilson smiled, reading her return text. He thought again about how good she looked. It had been a small transformation, but enough to soften her appearance. From how she looked now, no one would guess she was actually a bad ass. He respected her courage, volunteering to help the DEA like she had. And she’d taken a bullet for it.
Then he tucked his phone away as his team for the next PGP Install gathered around the two SUVs that were parked in the private area of the Shepherd Security garage. Their next job site was at the Ameren Venice Power Generating Station on the Illinois side of the Mississippi River, just across the river from St. Louis, Missouri. They would drive there, as it was only about five hours away.
Assigned to this install with him were fellow Charlie Team member Carter ‘Moe’ Tessman, and Echo Team members Laura Lee ‘Lah-lee’ Saxton, Sebastian ‘Crash’ Roth, and Michael ‘Bubbles’ Cooper. It should be a relatively straightforward job. He hoped so. He could already feel the warm tropical St. Thomas air that would greet him and Tessman when they stepped from the plane.
As team lead, Wilson had just met with Shepherd. He relayed the discussion with him to the team. “Shepherd is fine with us busting ass to complete this job in a few days and taking the extra days as leave time,” Wilson said. “The plant runs twenty-four-by-seven, so we can put in as many hours as we’d like to get the install done. I’m assuming you’re all on the same page that you’d like to have a few days off.”
The others heartily agreed. All of them, except for Tessman, had significant others they wanted to get back to and enjoy a few days off work with. Tessman was also looking forward to some good scuba diving in St. Thomas.
They divided into the two SUVs and set out on the drive south. They arrived at the plant at fifteen hundred and set up, putting in a seven-hour day. It was after twenty-two hundred when they checked into the motel that lay just a few miles away, on the other side of the McKinley Bridge, on the St. Louis side of the river.
For the next three days, they worked for twelve hours each day and quickly completed the installation of the hardware. All diagnostics checked out, and the system was up and functioning when they pulled out of the lot at zero eight hundred on the fourth day. They’d be back at HQ by thirteen hundred if they kept ahead of the forecasted snowstorm that was blowing in from Iowa and Minnesota.
Wilson and Tessman found a flight leaving from O’Hare International Airport early the next morning with only one short layover and plane change in Atlanta, which would get them into St. Thomas by thirteen hundred the next day. They booked it and then let Angel, the office manager, know of their plans. She’d notify everyone needed at the agency.
By the time they reached Bloomington, Illinois, nearly the half-way point of the trip, the snow came in wet and heavy with gusty winds, instantly bringing with it near white-out conditions. They slowed to a crawl. Radar showed northern Illinois and HQ had been receiving the same for over an hour.
“This weather is not going to interfere with our trip,” Wilson told Tessman, who sat beside him in the lead SUV.
“St. Thomas in January was too good to be true,” Tessman said. “We’ll make it back to HQ, but looking at the forecast for the next twenty-four hours, it doesn’t look like our plane will be taking off. The airlines are already starting to cancel flights.” He held his phone up.
“Not our flight,” Wilson vowed.
No sooner had the words left his mouth when his phone rang an incoming call from Shepherd. He brought the phone to his ear as he answered. “Wilson.”
“The weather is shit, so I won’t keep you. I need to divert your team to Peoria,” Shepherd said.
“What’s in Peoria?” he asked, to which Tessman raised an eyebrow.
“A new case we just accepted from the Marshals because we had assets closest,” Shepherd replied. “A high-value protectee missed a check-in. He’s set to testify on Monday.”
“If he’s that important, why the fuck didn’t he have a Marshals detail with him?”
“They’d transitioned him as the court case had continuance after continuance. In a surprise action, the defense motioned to begin trial on Monday, as it was originally scheduled.”
“Oh, shit,” Wilson remarked. “Sounds like they knew he’d be an easy target to eliminate before the trial started.”
“Yes, that’s what the Marshals are thinking too.”
Wilson mentally went through the backgrounds and abilities of his team. Tessman and Roth were both combat veterans. They could handle themselves. Michael Cooper had been on several missions, mostly as overwatch or in a limited combat role. Reports from other team leads were favorable. He could be slotted for a more active role this time around. Saxton had just completed her Operator Training and had participated in one mission with risk. He’d also been assigned to that mission and found her performance satisfactory. Hopefully, he could keep her assigned as overwatch, but if she had to take on a more active role, he’d pair her with Tessman.
“Diverting now,” Wilson replied, turning off I-55.
“It would normally be under forty minutes from your location, but with the weather, Ops anticipates it’ll take you nearly double the time. Ops is pushing the file through to your phones. I’ll expect a call from you when you arrive in the area.”
“Roger that, Shep,” Wilson replied. Shepherd disconnected. Wilson immediately dialed Roth, who rode shotgun in the second SUV that Michael Cooper drove. Saxton was in the backseat. “Put me on speaker. We have a new mission that Shepherd is diverting us to.” He filled them in on the mission and was wrapping up just as the text message with the mission details arrived in a text message that pinged their phones. “We’ll continue this conversation in thirty minutes after we’ve had the chance to review the info Ops just pushed through.”
Tessman read Wilson the contents as Wilson drove the vehicle through the raging winter storm. “The protectee is a thirty-seven-year-old former stock broker named Neil Jackowski from New York City. He lost the wrong person’s money in a Ponzi scheme. In exchange for protection from both his client, whose money he’d lost, and the organization running said Ponzi scheme, he was about to give testimony in open court. His client was an alleged drug cartel moneyman. I don’t know if he’s brave or stupid.”
“I think it’s more like stupid and scared,” Wilson said. “He crossed the wrong people. Guess he didn’t get the memo that if you mess with the drug cartel’s money, they make you disappear.”
It was quiet while Tessman scanned the information in the file. “His location is on a rural farm just west of Peoria, like the nearest neighbor is over a mile away, rural. And it’s flat terrain. Good thing it’s snowing like a bitch, otherwise we’d be seen coming up on the house.”
“Yeah, the snow gives us an advantage. Did the Digital Team send schematics of the house and all entrances?”
“Affirmative, and you’re not going to like it any more than I do. Got four doors. Front faces west, back slider to the east, one on the north side leading into the attached garage, and one on the south side into the basement.”
“You’re right, I don’t like it,” Wilson agreed. “Saxton isn’t ready to go in alone. I’m going to partner her with you at the front door when we make entry.”
“Front door?” Tessman asked.
“This guy just missed a check-in. He very well may be just fine. For all we know, he could be home and answer the door.”
“Yeah, and we just might fly out tomorrow to St. Thomas, too,” Tessman said. “Unlikely.”
“Yea of little faith,” Wilson joked.
It was slow going, and it did take nearly double the amount of time it should have taken to drive just west of Peoria as Ops predicted. The snow was accumulating quickly, and the roads were slick. Visibility was down to about four feet. The two SUVs stopped at the turnoff to the unplowed country road that led to the target farm. They donned their body armor. Wilson conducted the briefing with Shepherd. Madison Miller and Yvette ‘Control’ Donaldson listened in from Ops.
Wilson’s plan was straightforward. He and Roth would park and hike in, taking up positions beside the back door and basement doors, respectively. Tessman would wait for the transmission from Wilson, indicating they were in position. Once received, he would drive right up the snow-covered driveway with Saxton seated beside him. Roth would be crouched down in the backseat, his M-4 held at the ready. The SUV would be parked blocking the garage, so no vehicle could easily emerge, and Roth would jump out and cover the door that led into the garage, breaching it when appropriate.
Once out in the empty field, hiking towards the farmhouse, a chill from the driving wind instantly invaded Wilson. The wind pummeled the two men with frozen snow pellets, stinging the exposed skin on their faces. They pushed forward. They were nearly on top of the house when it came into view. Crouching low, they circled to the south. Wilson left Roth as he descended the stairs that led down to the basement, though upon review, calling it a basement was generous. It was more like a root cellar.
It didn’t take long for Wilson to reach the back sliding glass door. The drapes were closed. He couldn’t make out anything inside. His gaze swept the door, looking for light, movement, or anything that would indicate someone was home. Nothing. And the door was locked. He took up position with his back pressed against the worn wood siding beside the sliding glass door.
“In position,” Wilson broadcast. “All blinds and drapes are closed. We saw nothing on approach.”
“Roger that, Taco. We’re turning into the driveway now. At least I think this is where the driveway is. At least there’s no tracks, so we know no one drove through here in the last hour or so,” Tessman transmitted. He gave a running narrative as they slid to a stop in front of the two-car garage door, effectively blocking any easy egress from it.
The three of them exited the vehicle. Tessman had his Glock 19 held along his leg. Saxton had her new favorite pistol, an MK29 version of the Sig Sauer P226, .9 mm, in her right hand and tucked inside her jacket. Michael Cooper carried the same pistol. It was holstered as he gripped his M-4 in his hands as he ran to the house, pressing his back to the stone facade beside the door into the garage.
“At the front door,” Tessman advised. He motioned to Saxton to take up a position beside the door, out of the direct line of fire. She did and then pulled her weapon into view. He pressed the doorbell. He didn’t hear anything from within. “No answer from the bell.” He raised his left hand to knock.
At the back door, Wilson pressed an ear to the frigid glass door and strained to hear anything from within. Nothing. “Crash, make entry,” he ordered before he pulled the short pry bar from the back of his jeans. Dropping to a knee in front of the door, he inserted the pry bar beneath the track of the slider closest to the handle and lock. While pulling up on the pry bar, he pulled the door, sliding it open and off the track. The noise of the maneuver was minimal and should be mostly hidden under the constant pelting of the sleet against the house. “I’m in,” he whispered into his comms.
Roth made entry to the dirt-floored basement at around the same time. His flashlight beam swept the interior, locating the crude wooden stairs that rose to the ceiling. He heard creaking floorboards above. “Got movement on the first floor heading in the direction of the front door,” he spoke softly.
Wilson had just entered the house, stepping into the kitchen. He knew Roth hadn’t detected him. Someone else was in the house. With his Glock 19 leading the way and his M-4 slung over his back, Wilson soundlessly crept through the kitchen, his snowy boots leaving puddles on the brown linoleum floor. He heard nothing. He smelled nothing.
Until he reached the hallway which led to the staircase that rose up to the second floor, the front door just beyond the staircase. To the right of the front door was the living room. He froze where he was. The stale smell of cigarette smoke, the kind that lingers on a person’s clothing, was present. And then he heard movement.
“Still no answer at the door,” Tessman broadcast. “I’ve knocked twice and rang the bell once.”
“I’m in position at the basement door,” whispered Roth.
Wilson knew they were all waiting for him to give the go-order. He’d been waiting on Roth. As he stepped into the hallway, he transmitted, “Go, go, go!”
The man in the hallway turned to face him, shock and fear on his face. It was the target they’d come to check on, Neil Jackowski. He screamed out and turned to run towards the front door, just as Roth appeared in front of him, stepping into the hallway from the basement door. Jackowski’s feet slid on the floor when he tried to reverse direction, just like you see cartoon characters do. He hung in the air for a few seconds before crashing to the floor. Immediately, he tried to crawl away.
“Neil, easy, we’re here to help you. We’re not here to hurt you,” Wilson called to him as Roth mounted him, easily pinning him to the floor. “Crash and I have him. Hold position,” he transmitted. He kneeled in front of the protectee. “Neil, we’re here on behalf of the Marshals. Stop struggling. You’re safe.”
The thirty-seven-year-old man gazed up at Wilson. His brown eyes held suspicion. His black hair was grown out and hung against his sweaty face. “I hope like hell you’re telling me the truth.”
“I am. Crash, release him and let the others in the front door,” Wilson said. “You missed your check-in call and the Marshals haven’t been able to reach you, so they sent us.”
“Phone, TV, and internet went out yesterday,” Neil Jackowski said.
“Didn’t they supply you with a back-up cell phone?” Wilson asked as Roth unlocked and opened the front door, letting Tessman, Saxton, and Michael Cooper in.
“Yeah, there’s never been a good signal on it. Getting a call in or out is a crap shoot,” Jackowski said. “The trial’s been continued another month; I didn’t think it mattered if I missed the call-in.”
“The defense requested it go ahead on Monday. They retracted the continuance,” Wilson said.
“Oh, shit, that can’t be good,” Jackowski said. “They want me brought to open court so they can silence me. They threatened to kill me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Wilson said, trying to calm him down.
“You don’t understand. Without my testimony, there’s no case against them,” Neil insisted. “They’d only agree to go to trial if they knew I wouldn’t be testifying.”
“We do understand. They’re not going to get to you,” Wilson said, projecting unwavering confidence. The truth was, he had no idea if the Marshals would be able to keep this guy protected. He hoped they could. Protecting witnesses was their mission. “Get a bag packed. We’re going to bring you in. The Marshals have a detail assigned that we’ll rendezvous with to turn you over.”
“Now, just wait a minute,” he stammered nervously. “Aren’t I safest right here? I don’t want to go back to New York until the last minute.”
“That’s exactly what the bad guys will be expecting,” Wilson said. “This snow storm will either help you or it could be throwing a monkey wrench into everyone’s plans. Our orders are to bring you to Chicago to the Marshals’ detail today. Get a bag packed. We’re out of here in five minutes.” He nodded to Tessman. “Go with him.”
“He’s afraid,” Laura Lee said after the protectee and Tessman mounted the stairs.
“He should be,” agreed Roth.
“He’s right that the cartel will try to kill him,” Wilson agreed. “That’s what happens when you mess with cartel money.”
“Do you think they know where he is?” Laura Lee asked.
“Anything’s possible,” Wilson said. “My guess is they won’t strike until he’s back in New York City.”
“I’m glad we’re not escorting him there. I’m counting on a few days off,” Michael Cooper said. “Dahlia’s excited about the snow. I told her we’d go sledding.”
“That sounds like fun,” Laura Lee said.
“You and Dupont should come with us,” Michael said. Laura Lee was living with Brad Dupont, one of the Ops analysts.
Wilson chuckled. “Moe and I have a flight to St. Thomas tomorrow. We’re going diving.”
“That sounds better than sledding,” Roth chimed in. “Briana’s scheduled for twelve-hour days of training at the office for the next few days, but I’ll get to see her in bed at least.”
The relaxed coworker-chatter instantly stopped and all four of them drew their weapons when the unmistakable sound of breaking glass came from upstairs. Wilson switched his comms to transmit to all, which would loop in Ops.
“Glass breaking upstairs. Sitrep, Moe?” Wilson broadcast as he took steps towards the staircase, his weapon leading the way.
“Unsure, Taco. Came from the second bedroom up here.”
“We’ll check it out. Protect the target at all costs.”
“Roger that,” Moe replied.
“Bubbles, Crash, you’re with me. Lah-lee, follow us up. Keep your eyes on our six. Halfway up is your position.” Wilson didn’t wait for replies. He led the way up the staircase, moving quickly and soundlessly. As he neared the landing at the top of the stairs, bone-chilling cold air greeted him along with a whistling sound coming from a room to the left. Straight ahead, the door was closed and the door on the right was open. From the floor plan of the farmhouse they’d seen, he knew the room to the left was a bedroom, the door straight ahead was the master bedroom, and the door to the right was a bathroom.
Wilson stayed low, his eyes sweeping what he could see of the interior of the room to the left. He felt a tap to his shoulder, which he knew meant the man behind him was moving to sweep the room on the right, the bathroom. Wilson inched forward until he was at the door into the room. With a sudden movement, he thrust himself into the room and dropped to one knee, his weapon at the ready held in front of him.
No one was inside. But one of the windows was broken and the outside air blew large, wet flakes mixed with frozen pellets into the room in a steady stream. Movement beside him got his attention. Michael Cooper had entered and stood near the door. Wilson pointed to the door to the closet on the side wall that was open ajar. Then he stood and crept towards it, Cooper on his heels.
He stood back, his aim on the closet space as Cooper threw the door open wide. No one was there. They checked under the bed. Clear. Their gazes scrutinized the floor in front of the window. No object that could have broken the window was present. Snow and ice were all that was on the floor. Then Wilson gazed out of the windows. He saw no one.
“Room clear,” Wilson broadcast.
“Bathroom clear,” Roth reported.
“Coming out of the master,” Tessman broadcast.
They all met in the hallway. Saxton still crouched on the stairs in the position Wilson had assigned her. “All quiet downstairs,” she reported.
“Bubbles, find something to secure over that window,” Wilson ordered. “Is he ready to move?” he then asked Tessman.
“He will be in a minute. He’s just packing the last of his things.”
“As soon as he’s ready, and the window is secure, we move,” Wilson said. “Ops, I’ll leave you looped in until we are clear.”
“Roger that, Taco,” Yvette replied.
Ten minutes later, the five members of the team were huddled around the protectee and were hustling to the SUV. It was crowded with the six of them in it. Wilson was still on high alert. It was odd that the window had broken when it had. Something felt very off to him.
As they neared the bottom of the driveway, a volley of what had to be bullets impacted the vehicle’s left side as they passed a dilapidated structure that looked like it had once been a shed for the farmhouse children to wait on the school bus. Tessman was driving. He floored the accelerator. The rear end of the SUV fish-tailed until the wheels grabbed hold of the ground. The vehicle was armor plated and had bullet proof glass, but that didn’t stop Wilson and Roth, who sat in the backseat beside the protectee, from getting him down on the floor and covering his body with their own.
“Ops be advised we are taking fire,” Wilson transmitted. “Repeat, we are taking fire.”
“That’s not bullets hitting the vehicle. It’s large chunks of ice,” said Saxton, who sat in the middle of the front seats.
“Ice?” Wilson repeated, sitting up straight in his seat. “Stop the car, Moe!”
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” demanded Jackowski.
“Moe, you’re with me. Saxton, slide over into the driver’s seat and everyone hold position. No one fire,” Wilson ordered. Then he exited the car.
Wilson stalked to the backside of the structure. Tessman exited the vehicle and followed. At the partially closed door on the shack, Wilson kicked it. It exploded in, revealing what looked to be two pre-teen boys with a stack of ice balls and a weapon of some sort. They were in the process of firing another volley at their vehicle.
Both boys screamed and shrunk back after the door burst open and at the sight of the two men who pointed real rifles at them. “Man, don’t shoot,” one of them pled.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Wilson demanded.
“Nothing, just testing out my new snowball chucker,” the freckle faced future felon stammered.
“Your snowball chucker. Dude, you’re firing ice. You’ve dented up our vehicle. It sounded like bullets striking. You’re lucky we didn’t return fire and turn this shack into Swiss cheese!” Tessman scolded.
With this revelation, both boys started to cry. “We didn’t mean no harm,” the freckle faced one said.
“Honest, we didn’t mean to damage anything, didn’t know that window on the house would break,” the other one said.
“But you fired on us again, anyway?” Wilson yelled. “You knew that thing of yours was powerful enough to break a window. What the hell did you think it was going to do to a car?”
Both boys shrugged. “Dunno,” Freckles said. “But that guy who’s staying here is a dick. We were riding our dirt bikes, and the jerk threw rocks at us after he yelled at us for riding in the field. He don’t own it. We can ride there!”
Wilson grabbed their modified snowball throwing contraption and pulled it out of the shack. “I’ll take this weapon. You get home and stop being assholes. I don’t care what that guy said or did. You don’t fire weapons at people, houses, or vehicles. You got that?”
“That’s mine,” Freckles said.
“I’m confiscating it,” Wilson said. “We can do this one of two ways. The first is we all go to your house and talk with your parents about this weapon and the damage you caused and arrange payment for it. Or we take it, and you go home and stop being juvenile delinquents. Do something good.”
Both boys’ eyes went wide. They exchanged guilty looks. “Fine, take it,” Freckles said.
“How’d you get here?”
“Our snowmobiles are over there.” He pointed to a stand of pine trees.
“Get on them and go home,” Wilson said. He walked away from the two boys, still huddled in the shack. After placing the weapon in the back of the SUV, he climbed back in beside Jackowski and Roth as Tessman slid behind the wheel. “Stupid kids.”
“That was kids?” Jackowski asked.
“Yeah, two pre-teens you yelled at and threw rocks at on dirt bikes?” Wilson asked.
“That was those two little fuckers? Had I not been hiding out here, I would have called the police on them multiple times,” Jackowski said. “You need to arrest them and teach them a lesson.”
“Do you want more attention drawn to yourself?” Roth asked.
“No,” Jackowski admitted.
Wilson nodded an ‘I told you so’ at him.
When they arrived at the vehicle Wilson and Roth had abandoned when they’d hiked in, Wilson had Saxton and Cooper transfer to it. The rest remained with the protectee. The remainder of the drive to Schaumburg was slow due to the continuing bad weather conditions, but it was uneventful. They met the U.S. Marshals in the garage of a police station for the transfer.
“Good luck to you,” Wilson told Jackowski before they separated.
“Yeah, we’ll see if these guys can keep me alive to testify,” Jackowski said.
“That’s the plan,” one of the Marshals said.
As the Shepherd Security Team drove out of the garage, heading for their own parking garage nearby, Wilson received a text from Rae. “Hi Jimmy. I hope all is good. I’d like to talk when you have time, nothing important.”
He smiled as he read her message. He tapped out a reply. “I’ll have time in about an hour. Can I call then?”
As expected, they had a short debrief with Shepherd when they arrived at the office. Madison also sat in. “You showed professionalism and control when your vehicle was attacked,” Shepherd said. “Had you returned fire without investigating the source, the outcome would have been much different, though justified, and we’d be having a much different conversation right now. This was a perfect example of remembering the environment which we are operating in before we react.”
“Yeah, something just didn’t feel right about it,” Wilson said. “And that was before Saxton identified the projectiles as ice.”
“I don’t think those dumb-shit kids will be doing anymore firing ice at vehicles. You should have seen their faces,” Tessman said. “I think the one little shit pissed himself when we kicked the door in.”
“Freckles recovered quickly though. That little fucker actually argued with me when I confiscated the ice chucker,” Wilson added.
“I would like to get a look at this weapon they made,” Madison said.
The corner of Shepherd’s lips tipped up. “Those two could make good future Operators. I’m sure none of you were choir boys in your youth, either. Again, I appreciate your restraint in the situation. You handled it well. And as always, the Marshals were appreciative of our assist. Our flexibility and ability to change direction quickly is valuable to the agencies we interface with.”
“That’s one benefit of Operating with less red tape,” Madison said. “From an Ops point of view, having a weather-resistant drone in the air could have helped identify the threat. Michaela and Miraldi have been working on fortifying our drones to make them able to withstand the elements and capable of having guidance transferred to Ops to free up a team member on the ground of manning the controls. I believe we need to use available technology to a greater extent than we currently do. This mission could have ended very badly with two dead kids.”
They all agreed with her that was true.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Shepherd said. “Wilson stay, everyone else you’re dismissed until zero seven hundred on Monday morning. Enjoy your long weekend.”
Wilson watched the others file out of the room.
“Two things,” Shepherd said once they were alone in his office. “I’m pulling you from the next PGP install. You’ll join the team assigned to the next CIA referral mission. Sloan requested to be removed from it as he and his wife just received some news regarding her pregnancy that has necessitated a doctor’s appointment with a specialist. That appointment is Wednesday.”
“Oh, no. I hope everything’s okay.” Wilson knew the couple had been trying to get pregnant for a long time.
“It should be. They just found out they’re having twins and that her pregnancy is now deemed high risk,” Shepherd said. “They need to find out what if any restrictions she’ll have and then make arrangements and Sloan wanted to be there with her for it.”
A smile spread over Wilson’s face. “Twins, huh,” he laughed. “Sloan is so screwed.”
Shepherd chuckled as well. “Anyway, I wanted you to hear about the reassignment from me rather than in an email. You’re going to be spending less time on the ground this year assigned to the PGP installs, all of Charlie Team will.”
“That’s good to hear,” Wilson said.
He then waited a moment. Shepherd had said he was remaining behind for two things. What Wilson hadn’t expected was an order to report to Dr. Lassiter when the meeting was finished. But that was what item number two was. Usually, a meeting with Lassiter, the team shrink, immediately after a mission only occurred if something went sideways. He considered this last one a success.
“Hi, Joe,” Wilson greeted Lassiter after he’d entered Joe’s office to find Joe straightening his waiting room.
“Hi. Come on back,” he said pointing to the door to his inner office.
Wilson followed him to his kitchenette where the majority of the meetings took place. Lassiter grabbed a bottle of water from his refrigerator and held it up to Wilson.
“Yes, thank you,” Wilson said.
Lassiter sat across from him. “Shepherd looped me in on the last mission, not because the shit hit the fan but because it could have. Had it been a real threat inside that shed, you would have been cut down the second you kicked the door open,” Lassiter said.
“Instinct and situational awareness told me it wasn’t a real threat,” Wilson said.
“You’ve been doing this a long time, both with and with Shepherd,” Lassiter said.
“Charlie Team’s had a nice little vacation working mostly on the PGP Project over the last few years. I’ve always said it all pays the same and we’ve been rotated onto active cases often enough that our skills are staying sharp, but I’ll admit these kinds of cases are appealing.”
“You led a team with several members you’d never been in risky situations with,” Lassiter pointed out.
“Yes. As soon as the order came to contact the protectee and transport him, I evaluated my team. I knew, of course, that Tessman and Roth could handle whatever came our way. Michael Cooper had some experience, but I knew Saxton was green. She handled herself well.”
“You led her well,” Lassiter corrected him.
“Because of the PGP Project she already sees me as an authority figure plus she respects experience in the field as opposed to rank.”
“With the new team structures and types of missions Shepherd Security will be engaging in this year, you’re going to be leading actual case teams again, many times with different team members assigned than just Charlie Team. That’s one of the reasons we’re touching bases.”
Wilson took a drink of the water, stalling for time. This was one of those open-ended statements from Lassiter that was a fishing expedition. “I’m up for it.” He beamed a smile at Joe. “It all pays the same.”
Lassiter laughed. “No one shoots at you and your team on the PGP Project.”
“Not usually,” Wilson agreed. “This case started out as an install. That just goes to prove any job can lead to a traditional case or a federal agency assist. I’m glad Saxton got her full Operator training.”
“If what could have happened had you given the order to return fire at the shed weighs on you, I expect to hear from you,” Lassiter said.
“I’ll reach out if that happens,” Wilson assured him.
“Okay,” Joe said. He nodded towards the door. “For the record, I hope your flight isn’t canceled tomorrow. Have a Bushwacker for me while you’re there.”
Wilson chuckled as he stood. “I wasn’t aware you knew your drink history so well.”
“Saint Thomas, the Bushwacker, San Juan, the Pina Colada, and from Havana, the Mojito. Yes, I am a man full of useless information,” Lassiter said with a smile.
“Thanks, Joe,” Wilson said before he left.
Wilson went to his office, where he’d dropped his backpack and coat upon returning to HQ. He had to complete his mission report. He thought about what he and Joe Lassiter had talked about. For some reason, he didn’t see it as a big deal that he’d be leading other team members on active cases again. Was it? Was he missing something?
His text message chimed. He checked the screen. It was Rae. He had forgotten about the call he’d said he would make to her. “Sorry, I had an unexpected meeting. Can you give me another half hour?”
“Sure,” she replied. “Nothing important, just wanted to bounce something off you.”
He got busy on the mission report. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he’d be able to go back to his place and pack for his trip the following day, which he was looking forward to. The other team members had sections on the report to fill out as well. Once theirs were all in, as team leader, it was his job to review all sections and then submit the completed mission report to Shepherd.
He easily completed it in less than a half hour. Then he dialed Rae.
“Hi Jimmy,” she answered on the first ring.
“Hi Rae, sorry for the delay. How are you?”
“Good, good. Are you getting this bad winter storm where you are too?” She knew his headquarters was in the Chicago area, but she knew not to ask any specifics regarding the location.
“Yes, I spent all day driving up from southern Illinois in the worst of it.”
“That had to be pretty slow going,” she said. “It took me double the amount of time just to get home from work this evening.”
Wilson checked the time on his watch. He always enjoyed messaging and talking with her, but tonight he just wanted to be on his way to his place to pack. “Yes. I’ve just finished work and am still at the office. It’s still coming down and I have to drive home yet.” He tried not to sound grumpy or like he was rushing the conversation.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. I said this wasn’t important. It could have waited, Jimmy.”
“No worries. I know the roads are bad, otherwise I would have called you on my way home.”
“So here’s what I wanted to bounce off you, get your opinion on. I’m thinking of going to school to be a teacher, but I never finished high school, even though this identity the Marshals gave me says I did. Will that be a problem? And do you think I can handle the classes? I’ll only take a class or two at a time, so I won’t overload myself. But I really love working with the kids.”
“Rae, I think that’s great that you want to do more. Yes, I absolutely think you can handle it. And most schools have tutoring centers you can go to if you need extra help.”
“Yeah, I read about the tutoring center on the college’s website. I’m sorry to always be bugging you with stuff but I have no one else who knows who I really am that I can talk to.”
“It has to be lonely,” Wilson said.
“I feel like I’m living a lie most the time because I can’t tell the people in my life anything about me,” she said. “And I couldn’t talk to the teacher I work with about this either.”
“Well, in a way you are living a lie, but with very good reason. Rae, you have to remember all the good you did by helping us. What you did took a lot of courage, courage none of the people in your life in Iowa could even fathom. We’ve talked about a lot, your childhood, how you ended up where you did. You survived a lot of things most people wouldn’t have the guts to survive. And look where you are now, contemplating going to college. I’m proud of you and I hope you are too. Instead of asking yourself and me if you can handle college classes, you should be telling yourself that you will handle the classes, no doubt about it.”
She chuckled into the phone. “Thanks, Jimmy. You always give me a different way to think about things. Thank you for your friendship.”
Rae kept talking, but his thoughts diverted his attention away from her.
The word friendship gnawed at him. Is that what they were, friends? Until he and Garcia were so near to where she lived and had time, he hadn’t considered visiting her. Nor had he told anyone on the team that he was in communication with her. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed or wanted to hide their communication. And even now when he thought about it in those terms, he couldn’t quite get himself to use the word relationship but that’s what it was. Any ongoing interaction between two people is some sort of relationship.
But that still made him ask himself, were they friends? And if not, what were they? He always enjoyed chatting with her, be it texting or phone calls. He reached out to her as often as she reached out to him. But now, he had to question his motives on why he did. Obviously, he was getting something out of this relationship, or he wouldn’t continue it.
“Jimmy, are you there?” she asked when he said nothing.
“I’m sorry, yes, I was distracted for a moment, work stuff.”
“I should let you go. Thanks again. It looks like the preschool and daycare will be closed due to the weather tomorrow. Since I should be home tomorrow, I plan to fill out the application to start the next term at the local community college.”
“That’s great Rae. Just stick to the ID the Marshals set up for any of the questions and you’ll be fine. Have a good night.”
“You too. Drive safe on your way home. Bye.” She said and then disconnected the call.
She stared at her phone for a few moments after ending the call. He had been very distracted. She wondered what his job was like and what kinds of things were discussed at the unexpected meeting he’d just had. She knew he did a dangerous job. Anyone who took on the cartels and high-level drug dealers risked their lives.
Reina was thankful to have a friend like Jimmy to call, as she’d told him. She had no one to talk to about anything regarding her real self. Even though she never expected their relationship to lead to anything romantic, she couldn’t help but feel attracted to him. He was good looking, blonde hair and blue eyes. His body was lean and muscular, built just how she liked her men. He was smart, funny, and gave good advice. And he was kind. She had not run into that many men who were good people at their core, but Jimmy Wilson was.