Chapter 24 #2
Through the binoculars, I watch children filing out with their parents.
Hendricks appears with her daughter, both of them once again smiling about something.
The girl demonstrates a ballet position while they walk, and her mother applauds encouragingly.
It’s another moment of domestic routine that feels both foreign and appealing, and I long for the same experience with mine and Celia’s children in the future.
Realizing I’m thinking of more than one brings a small smile to my mouth, but it disappears a moment later.
Celia approaches from the side, timing her movement to intersect with Hendricks near the parking garage entrance. It has all the appearance of a casual encounter, the kind that happens naturally in public spaces, with nothing to suggest planned contact or surveillance.
“Excuse me, Assistant Director Hendricks?” Celia’s voice comes through clearly on the parabolic microphone. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have information about threats to your safety.”
Hendricks stops walking and positions herself slightly in front of her daughter, protective instincts clearly overriding professional curiosity. “Who are you?”
“My name is Celia Bourn. I know this sounds crazy, but there’s a plot within the Bureau to murder you and frame someone else for the crime.”
She sounds skeptical. “Are you recording this conversation?”
Celia avoids answering. “I have evidence that I think you need to see.”
Hendricks studies Celia’s face, clearly looking for signs of deception or mental instability. Whatever she sees must pass initial scrutiny because she doesn’t immediately walk away or call for security. “What kind of evidence?”
Celia produces copies of the forged warrant and several financial documents from the folder. “These show planned operations against you, including fabricated evidence that would be used to justify lethal force against the man they plan to frame for your murder”
I watch Hendricks examine the papers, her expression shifting from skepticism to concern as she recognizes official letterheads and formatting. The warrant with my name typed across the top seems to particularly capture her attention. “Where did you get these?”
“From someone inside the Bureau who died trying to expose the corruption.” Celia keeps her voice low, conscious of the child standing nearby. “Agent David Kim tried to kill me yesterday when we met with the source.”
The mention of Kim’s name triggers visible recognition. Hendricks knows the name, which confirms his identity and adds credibility to Celia’s story. Sometimes, the truth is more convincing than any lie we could construct.
“This warrant...” Hendricks studies the document more closely. “This is signed by Director Frayne himself.”
“Yes, ma’am. The corruption reaches the highest levels of Bureau leadership.”
Hendricks is quiet for several minutes, processing implications that must be staggering for someone dedicated to federal law enforcement.
Learning that her own director has authorized her murder has to go beyond simple corruption into systematic betrayal of everything she’s sworn to protect.
“I need to verify this information through my own channels.”
“Ma’am, with respect, you can’t trust official channels. The people trying to kill you are using those same channels to plan your murder.”
The daughter tugs on her mother’s sleeve, clearly bored with adult conversation and ready to leave. Hendricks glances around the parking garage, seemingly suddenly aware of how exposed their position is. “If what you’re saying is true, then meeting here isn’t safe for any of us.”
“No, ma’am, it isn’t.”
Hendricks reaches into her purse and produces a business card, writing something on the back before handing it to Celia. “This address. One hour. Come alone and bring everything you have.”
“Ma’am, I’m not alone. The people I’m working with are trying to protect you, but they’re the ones being framed for crimes they didn’t commit.”
She hesitates for a moment before nodding. “One hour. If this is legitimate, we’ll discuss next steps then.” With that, she takes her daughter’s hand and walks toward their car.
Celia returns to the van with the address written on the business card. I examine it while Leonid starts the engine and begins driving toward the location.
I study the street address and cross-reference it with mapping software. “It’s an apartment complex in Arlington. It could be a safe house, or it could be a trap.”
“She seemed genuine.” Celia fastens her seatbelt and checks the recording device. “Shocked, but genuine. I don’t think she’s part of the conspiracy, and what other choice do we have?”
“That doesn’t mean she won’t call for backup or try to arrest us when we arrive.” I fold the business card and slip it into my jacket pocket. “But you’re right that we don’t have many other options.”
The apartment complex turns out to be typical government housing, the kind of location that various agencies use for witness protection and safe house operations, with bland architecture and an ostensibly minimal security presence, designed to avoid attracting attention while providing reasonable protection.
Leonid drives through the neighborhood twice, noting camera positions and escape routes while we wait for Hendricks to arrive. He’s following standard surveillance procedure, and I’m partially reassured but still nervous as hell.
“There.” I spot Hendricks’ sedan turning into the complex parking lot. “She came alone.”
We watch her park and walk toward one of the apartment buildings, using a key to let herself inside. “She’s inside.” Leonid checks his watch. “Do we wait longer, or follow now?”
I weigh the tactical situation against time pressures. Waiting reduces the immediate risk but gives potential enemies more time to organize a response. Following immediately increases our danger but maintains initiative and prevents extended exposure.
“We go now.” I check my sidearm and scan the area one final time. “Celia, I want you to consider staying in the van.”
“Not happening.” Her response comes without hesitation. “We’ve been through this.”
“This could be a trap. Federal agents, arrest warrants… The works. I might not be able to protect you from the feds.”
“Then you’ll need someone there who can verify what happened during our first contact.” She opens the van door and steps onto the pavement. “Besides, she seemed more comfortable talking to me than she would be with you.”
The logic is sound, even if my protective instincts argue against it. Hendricks did respond positively to Celia’s approach, and having a female civilian present might help maintain the non-threatening atmosphere we need for productive conversation.
“Stay behind me. If shooting starts, get to cover and stay there until it’s over.”
We approach the apartment building cautiously, weapons concealed but accessible, balancing readiness with the appearance of peaceful intent. If Hendricks is monitoring our approach, we want to project confidence without appearing aggressive.
The apartment door opens before we can knock.
Hendricks stands in the doorway, no longer the relaxed parent from the dance studio.
Now she looks like a senior federal law enforcement officer preparing for a serious, potentially explosive conversation.
Her gun is visible in her hand but relaxed at her side. “Come in. We have a lot to discuss.”