Rogue Operator (3 page)

He bent
over, pulling his leg up, or rather his body down toward his leg, and nearly
gasped when he saw it was a hand wrapped around his ankle.

Carl!

Jason
reached down and grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled. Carl let go of Jason’s
ankle, and his face came into sight. With his legs freed, Jason kicked as hard
as he could, clawing at the water with his free hand, his lungs on fire,
desperate for oxygen. The surface was so far above he knew they weren’t going
to make it.

A shadow
crossed overhead. The hull of a boat. Two more shadows, smaller, hit the water.
It took him a moment to realize it was people jumping in. He wanted to shout,
to let their rescuers know where they were, but his sealed lips, his burning
lungs, were about to give into the instinctual temptation his rapidly fogging
brain was demanding.

Breathe!

His legs
were barely kicking now, his arm was still stretched out above him, but had
stopped its desperate clawing, and he felt his grip loosening on Carl’s wrist,
Carl’s own fingers limp. Jason looked up, and saw the shadows moving overhead,
but the hull of the boat was receding, the surface getting farther away.

Images
of Maggie, Ayla and Darius flashed before his eyes, the last hug he had given
Maggie, in haste as he rushed out the door, late. Ayla, none given, he deciding
not to wake her up, Darius, who he had afforded only a pat on the head as he
gave his one armed hug to his beloved wife.

I’m
so sorry!

He felt
his chest heave with the thoughts of what his family’s last memories would be
of him. The father, the husband, in too much of a hurry to take the few seconds
necessary for a proper goodbye.

His
heart sank as he remembered the reason why he had let Ayla sleep in. The night
before they had had a fight, and he had taken her cellphone away. His heart
ached at the thought his daughter’s final memories would be of anger, and the
guilt she would feel over that.

No!

He
kicked, hard, yanking Carl with him, focusing instead on the rapidly
approaching shadow, rather than the fading surface. He stretched his hand out
as far as he could, and just as his final burst of energy was about to give
out, he felt a hand grab him by the wrist, and one of the shadows suddenly
blocked the surface from his view. Something pressed against his mouth, trying
to push it open, but he fought, shaking his head, knowing if he opened his
mouth, the last bit of air he had would escape, and he’d drown.

The hand
left his wrist and instead grabbed the back of his head, pushing whatever it
was against his mouth even harder. It was then he felt the bubbles tickling his
nose, and he opened his mouth. Water rushed in, but so did the mouthpiece from
the scuba gear his rescuer must be wearing. He clamped down and breathed out,
forcing the water from his mouth, then sucked in a deep breath, knowing if he
was wrong, this would be his end.

The
sweet relief of oxygen filled his lungs. He gulped in breath after breath, the
fire subsiding, his head clearing, his strength returning slightly, the oxygen
doing little to fortify him against the frigid waters.

Carl!

He pulled
Carl up beside him and took the mouthpiece and shoved it into his friend’s mouth
as he and his rescuer kicked toward the surface. He felt another hand on his
arm as the second rescuer took charge of Carl. The surface rapidly approached,
and suddenly his head was clear of the water.

He
gasped for air as he was pulled toward a boat he didn’t recognize. Two pairs of
strong hands reached unseen over the edge and he was hauled from the water, and
dumped onto the deck. As he coughed to clear his lungs, shivering, the bright afternoon
sun, so warm only minutes before, felt a frigid imitation of its former self.

He heard
something drop beside him and he turned to see Carl’s blue face. He rolled over
to try and begin CPR, but was shoved aside, the form of a man he didn’t
recognize now leaning over Carl, checking his pulse.

“Jason!
Carl! Are you guys okay?”

It was
Phil. Jason struggled to his elbows, then a sitting position. He crawled over
to the side of the deck of the much larger boat, and draped his exhausted frame
over the side. He gave Phil a half-hearted wave.

“You
okay?” asked Phil.

“I’ll
live.”

“And
Carl?”

Jason
looked over at Carl and saw two men working on him, one doing chest
compressions, the other performing mouth to mouth. Jason’s chest was tight as
he realized his friend of over fifteen years was dying in front of him.

What
am I going to tell his wife? That I was too weak to save him?

He
damned himself for not being in shape, for leading a sedentary lifestyle. If he
had only taken better care of himself, he might have had more strength to pull
them both to the surface, but instead, here was Carl, most likely technically
dead, with these strangers valiantly trying to save his friend’s life.

He
looked at Phil and shook his head. Phil’s shoulders slumped, his head dropping
against his chest. There was a cough behind him. Jason’s head spun toward the
sound and he cried out in joy as he saw Carl cough again, water spewing from
his mouth as the men rolled him onto his side. Within moments his natural color
started to return to his purple lips as he sucked in more fresh air, his coughs
continuing.

“What’s
going on?”

Jason
turned to Phil, his smile revealing all Phil needed to know. Phil jumped in the
boat, pumping his fist in the air, and as the boat rocked from his stupidity, a
look of horror crossed his face as he dropped down, trying to stabilize himself
and their craft. Gripping the edges, he sat down and tightened his life
preserver.

“Why
don’t you head back to shore before you get yourself killed,” suggested Jason.

Phil,
the only non-swimmer in the trio, nodded and grabbed the oars. Jason felt a
blanket being draped over his shoulders, and looked over to see one of his
rescuers standing over him.

“You
need to get warmed up before hypothermia sets in,” said the man towering over
him. He looked to be at least six foot two, two hundred pounds, and his arms
rippled with muscles and what looked like a Special Forces tattoo of some type
half hidden by a short sleeved neoprene wetsuit.

Jason
nodded. “If you could take us to shore, we’ve got clothes there and can get a
fire going pretty quick.” Jason pointed in the direction Phil was rowing.
“Straight that way, you can’t miss it, we’re the only camp on the lake I
think.”

The man
nodded and turned, jabbing his finger in the direction of Phil. The boat’s
engines roared to life, and the craft gently surged forward, the pilot
apparently in no hurry. Jason began to dry his hair with the blanket.

“Are you
Dr. Jason Peterson?”

Jason’s
eyes shot open.

“How’d
you know that?”

The man
motioned at Carl.

“Is that
Dr. Carl Shephard?”

Jason
nodded.

“And I
presume the man in the boat is Dr. Phil Hopkins?”

Jason’s
eyes narrowed. “How’d you know that? Are you with the rental agency?”

The man
chuckled, reaching behind his back.

“No,
we’re not with
that
agency.”

Jason
gasped, and tried to push himself through the gunwale as a pistol appeared. The
man raised it and pointed it directly at Jason’s chest, then squeezed the
trigger. Jason felt something hit him, but not with as much pain as he would
have expected. He looked down and saw a tiny dart protruding from his chest and
he pulled it out. He turned to Carl, to warn him, but it was too late, the man
already firing at his friend.

Something
was yelled in a language he didn’t recognize as the world turned into a deep
fog. The boat surged ahead and as he was consumed by nothingness, he heard a
scream and a terrific crash, and he knew they had just run down Phil in the
tiny rowboat.

Why
is this happening?

Ogden, Utah

Maggie Peterson screamed, screamed like she had never before. Her
instinct was to turn the car lights off, as if doing so might hide the horror
she now faced. Four men, all in black, their faces covered by ski masks, stood
in front of the car, assault rifles pointed at her and her daughter. But before
she could reach forward to turn the switch, two of the men rushed forward, on
either side of the car. She raised her hands to shield herself as they raised
their weapons and smashed in the side windows.

Ayla
screamed, and Maggie spun toward her, reaching out. As she did, her foot
slipped off the brake and the car surged forward, its automatic transmission
hurtling the car ahead, toward the two men still standing in front of the
vehicle. A hand gripped her by the blouse, pulling at her as the car continued
forward.

She
pushed on the gas.

Hard.

The car
jumped, the grip on her shoulder breaking, and she closed her eyes as the two
men hopped up on the bumper, then the hood. The car jerked to a stop as it hit
the front of the trailer they were in, the airbags deploying with a crack far
louder than she had imagined they would, and she found herself gasping for
breath as she recovered from being shoved into the back of her seat.

She
pushed against the already deflating bag and reached down to put the car in
reverse, but it was no use. The engine had cut off, and a pair of hands were
already pulling her out of the now open driver side door. Still disoriented
from the crash and the airbags, she struggled but to no avail, the entire
experience now a nightmare, the headlights shattered, the only light now from
the flashers that were immediately turned on after the airbags deployed, their
pulse lending an artificial glow to the entire experience.

She
heard another door open, and Ayla screamed. Her voice was muffled suddenly,
then Maggie heard a man yelp in pain.

“The
bitch bit me!”

Good
for you!

The
truck they were in suddenly jerked and she lost her balance, falling into the
arms of her assailant. She heard the hiss of airbrakes, then the engine she
hadn’t noticed before, stopped. A noise at the back of the truck had her
spinning as she was lifted to her feet, and suddenly the entire truck was
bathed in sunlight as the rear doors were thrown open.

She was
pushed toward the light and soon found herself squinting at the sun, covering
her eyes, as she gingerly made her way down the same ramp they had been pushed
up only minutes before. She turned back and saw Darius being carried fireman
style, screaming at the top of his lungs, his little legs kicking ineffectually
at the man. Ayla was being held from behind, carried forward, the man gripping
her under her ribcage as he struggled against her more ferocious attack.

Maggie
noticed his hand was bleeding, a trickle of blood on Ayla’s chin. Ayla’s leg
swung out then up, catching the man in the groin. He grunted and loosened his
grip. Ayla shrugged out of the hold, and ran forward, into the sunlight and
fell down the ramp. Maggie stepped forward to help her, but was held back by
her captor.

Two
SUVs, she presumed the two from earlier, were parked behind the truck, and the
passenger side door of one of them opened, a man, the first one she had seen
without his face covered, stepped out and rounded the front of the vehicle.

“Sir,
your face!” It was the one holding her.

The man
shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, not where they’re going.” He raised a hand gun
and pointed it at Ayla and fired. Ayla fell backward, into the arms of the man
she had bit as Maggie screamed. Her mind began to swim, her vision blurring, as
she watched her baby go limp, and the man, her murderer, turn toward tiny
Darius.

He
fired, eliciting another scream from Maggie as the weapon was turned on her. He
squeezed, but she felt nothing, her mind shutting down from the horror of
seeing her children murdered in front of her, it judging the experience of her
own death an unnecessary evil.

As she
slumped to the ground, all she heard was the blood rushing in her ears, and a
thumping sound in the distance.

My
babies!

Ogden, Utah

Detective Jack Percy looked at the rubber that had been laid on the
pavement earlier. There was no doubt something had happened, but the question
was what? The reports were confused, conflicted, and none of them frankly
believable.

A car
was pushed into the back of a truck by an SUV?

He had
called bullshit on the report when it came into the office, and after bets were
taken, had gone out with his partner as they were next in the rotation.

“What do
you make of it?” asked Jamie Conway as she chewed on a power bar. Peanut butter
flavor. His favorite.

“Do you
have another one of those?”

She
shook her head. “Sorry, Boss, last one. Want half?”

He waved
off the proffered bar. “Naw, I’ll grab something after we’re finished up here.”
He pointed at the tread marks. “Get the crime scene guys down here, have them
get photos of the treads, see if they can match the vehicle types. Put an APB
on the vehicles. One or two black SUV’s, tinted windows, damage to the front
end of one.”

“Damage?”

Percy
pointed at the ground. “There’s some glass and plastic here. Could be from the
SUV, could be from the car. Have the lab guys check it out.”

Jamie
finished jotting in her notebook then nodded.

“So, do
you still think it’s a bullshit call?”

He
shrugged his shoulders. “For all we know there was a rear-ender. Car hits back
of truck, SUV hits back of car, insurance papers are exchanged quickly, or
there was no major damage so they decide to forgo it. You know how reliable
witnesses are.”