They'll Call It Treason (8 page)

January 29 at 10:15
a.m.
EST

Atlanta, Georgia

Jason sped the sedan through morning traffic. He and Ethan had suited up in Kevlar vests emblazoned with “F.B.I.” in large white letters across the front and back. Earpieces were secured in place.

Ethan had alerted the Atlanta Field Office to the threat before they stormed out of the Detention Center. If they were not too late, they could secure the Congressman and sweep the area for the suspect. Jason threw the car's weight onto the front passenger wheel as he pulled onto Andrew Young International Boulevard.

The Atlanta Police were already cordoning off the area and stopping traffic from entering or exiting. Jason screeched the sedan to a stop at the blockade. Ethan waved his badge out the window and the officer waved them through while holding back other traffic.

They hurried by rows of immaculately landscaped shrubbery and small trees. The Omni high-rise hotel towered overhead. Jason caught sight of the World Congress Center ahead. Its glass and concrete structure jutted out toward the boulevard where more police cars sat. Jason mounted the curb, earning an ear-splitting metal-against-concrete screech from the sedan’s undercarriage. He brought the car to a stop next to several black SUVs and he and Ethan jumped out.

“Agents Phelps and Shaw?” a man called to them by one of the SUVs. He was tall, dressed in a suit and tie. He jogged over to meet them, his thick brown hair refused to move even the slightest bit in the wind. The darkness of his tanned skin set off his pale icy blue eyes. He looked more like an actor or model than an Agent.

“Special Agent Sean Abrams. We spoke on the phone.” They shook hands and exchanged the usual greetings.

Ethan recognized Agent Abrams’ gruff voice from his phone conversation. He suddenly felt he recognized his face from somewhere too—that he had seen the man before.  “Have we met before?”  he ventured.

“No, not that I’m aware of,” Abrams answered, more affably than when Ethan had spoken to him the day before. None of the man's frustration was present now. “So far we’ve closed off Andrew Young Boulevard between Marietta and Centennial Olympic—”

“What about the Congressman?” Ethan asked, cutting him off.

“We have two Agents in the Congress Center,” Abrams rebounded, “ready to secure the Congressman as soon as his speech is over. Police are stationed throughout the building. We also have several Agents scouting out the interior of the Phillips Arena and the closest surrounding buildings.”

Abrams paused briefly, “Sorry for being so short with you on the phone yesterday. It just seemed awful far-fetched. On the phone, you asked where the most strategic sniper roost in the area would be. From what they are telling me, it would be somewhere in the Phillips Arena or the CNN Center.”  He pointed to the building across the street down at the edge of the police blockade. “I’ve got one team going through the CNN Center as we speak, and another three in the Arena, since it’s closer.  It seems to be the more likely choice.”

The more likely choice,
thought Ethan
. That can’t be it.

Looking from building to building, Ethan took in his surroundings. Some of the buildings were tall and covered in glass.  Others squatted low, layered in concrete.  He noted the direction of the wind.

Where would I take the shot?

Ethan’s eyes darted to Jason “The CNN Center. That’s where I’d take the shot” It was a gut feeling, assuming the shooter knew what he was doing. It could be either of the closer buildings, but the glass stretching from one end of the building to the other struck him. Jason agreed without hesitation, and they took off at a jog to the CNN Center with Abrams on their heels. They had only minutes before the Congressman would be finished with his speech, and not a second to lose.

“Where are your men in the CNN Center?” Jason asked Abrams as they ran down the street.

“Third and eighth floors.”

“We’ll take the fifth floor then, work down from there,” Ethan said.

They barreled in through the glass front doors of the CNN Center, the iconic letters stamped in white on the glass. As they entered, Ethan eyed a reception desk off to the side.

“FBI, where are the stairs?”

The receptionists looked confused and almost panicked by the suddenness of their entrance. Finally, a woman behind the counter pointed toward the hallway just ahead, “About half way down the hall.”

They bolted forward, shoved through the stairway door, and took the steps by twos. The staircase was brightly lit, the stairs painted a bright red, lined in white. Large black numbers labeled the current level by each exit door. They passed the second and third floor exits.

Out of the corner of his eye Ethan noticed a red printed sign hanging on the fourth floor exit door. He stopped, and Jason almost ran into him.

“What is it?” Jason asked, puzzled.

Do Not Enter – Remodeling

“This floor should be relatively empty, shouldn’t it?” Ethan asked, not expecting an answer, pointing to the sign. The lights behind the door were off, unlike the other doors they had passed. “Let’s start here.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn't it make sense up higher?” Sean Abrams reasoned, urging them to take the next floor.

“Four stories up is plenty of clearance,” Ethan assured Sean, unholstering his Glock .40.

Sean shook his head and nodded forward at the door.

“It’s empty too I imagine. It’s the perfect place.”

Ethan paused, hoping he was right. They did not have time to waste. “Alright, stick to the exterior rooms. Let’s each take a separate room and continue down the hall.”

Jason and Sean readied their pistols, keeping them low but ready. As quietly as he could, Ethan pressed the door open.  He heard a faint metallic click as the latch opened and the door moved forward.

The hallway extended the full length of the complex.  It would have been pitch black if not for the flashing of a few multi-colored lights accompanying a tangle of wiring along the skeletal right wall. The sheet rock was missing. The wiring was exposed, branching from the ceiling and entwining between metal supports like kudzu.

The rooms to their left bordered the exterior wall. The remodeling crews must have started with the perimeter rooms first. Their walls were fully covered in unpainted sheet rock. The doors were new. Factory labels still adhered to the heavy wooden slabs, vacant round holes sat where doorknobs would soon go.

Ethan took the first room. Jason and Sean each moved on to their own in sequence. Ethan pressed his back against the wall and placed his hand against the door. He took a deep breath and gently pressed the door forward. He kept his pistol low and ready as he slung the door open, sweeping over the room with his eyes and pistol.

It was empty aside from a few steel beams running from floor to ceiling and a bundle of cords on the floor waiting to be installed. Expansive glass windows spanned the wall from floor to ceiling from one end of the room to the other. Outside he could see the World Congress Center from his perch, but no suspect.

One down, who knows how many more to go.

Ethan rushed back to the hallway and jogged quietly to the next room. Jason exited the next door, followed shortly by Sean at the next door. They both gave the all clear.  Ethan took the lead, moving down the hall again, continuing the search.

“We’ve secured the Package, ready to extract,” came a voice over Ethan’s earpiece.

“No, not yet. Hold your position until the perimeter is cleared,” Ethan whispered the command. He knew they only had one chance at getting the Congressman out alive. They could not afford to be careless.

Ethan turned the corner into the next room. It was as bare as the previous. He back-tracked to the hall and took his next station by the second to last door. He pressed the door open and swept the room.

This room was as deserted as the others. Ethan spotted some discarded food wrappers and metal drink cans on the floor. Near the large windows to his right was something the other rooms did not have: a second door. Ethan imagined it must lead to some high dollar executive’s future office. He was probably standing in the secretary’s office right now.

Ethan stopped. He thought he heard movement in the next room.  He listened, waiting for more. Nothing. He progressed forward carefully, slowly moving toward the door.

Crackle.
Ethan jerked his foot back as the noise echoed through the silence. He lifted his foot carefully, trying to elicit as little noise as possible from the cheese crackers under his foot.

Dammit!

In the next room he heard more movement, a voice and then the light thumping of footsteps on the concrete floor. Ethan let his heart settle and advanced deliberately toward the door. He froze as the door opened before he reached it, his Glock aimed at chest level, waiting.

Abrams stepped through and immediately saw Ethan. He swung his hands up, “It’s just me.”

Ethan relaxed faintly, only marginally lowering his pistol, “Who were you talking to?”

“Who was I talking to?” Sean asked. “No one. I was just cursing my luck. It would be on my watch that something shitty like this comes up.” As an afterthought Sean added, “It’s clear though, and it’s the last room on this level facing the Congress Center.”

Ethan acknowledged Abrams, attempting a quick look around Sean as the door latched shut. Nothing. Satisfied Ethan followed Sean out into the hallway where Jason met them.

“All’s clear Ethan. All the others teams have reported in and are moving back to the Congress Center.”

Ethan was both relieved and disappointed at the same time. They had been had by a drunk. Or whoever was behind that synthesized voice had moved a step ahead. Either way the Congressman was all right.

He wanted to catch a break in the case so badly. Maybe he had let his heart get in the way.
What am I missing?

”My teams do their job,” Sean told Ethan, his aggravation unmasked. Placing his hand to his ear, Sean gave the green light. “All clear, move the Package.”

Turning to Jason and Ethan, he asserted his jurisdiction, “Let’s get down there and make sure everything goes smoothly from here on out. We’re done here.”

Ethan held back his objection. Sean had been right about the floor. It was clear. Maybe it was time he trusted him.

As Jason reached the door he looked back at Ethan. “Maybe it was just a false alarm. Maybe Russell really was just drunk.”

“Or they’re…”

Without warning a gunshot bellowed through the hollow space. A high caliber rifle, a sniper. Ethan froze in place.

“The Package has been hit! I repeat: the package has been hit,” the agent in command on the ground shouted into the radio.

“That came from down the hall,” Jason asserted, bewildered.

January 29 at 10:40
a.m.
EST

Atlanta, Georgia – CNN Center

Ethan’s pulse jumped.
How had they missed the shooter? There had not been time between the shot and their sweep of the floor for the shooter to move into position.

Ethan drew his Glock and ran to the first door, with Jason and Sean right behind him. As before, the room was empty.

“The last room,” Ethan said as they rapidly scanned each door they passed. He quickened his pace, keeping his eyes alert and his firearm ready.

Only one left.             

It had come from this floor; he knew it had. Jason took up a position at the left of the door, Sean took post on the opposite side. Ethan nodded to them, kicked the door open, and ran in.

As he leapt forward a bullet pinged the wall just above his head. He ducked by instinct even though the shot was well off its mark. Ethan caught sight of the shooter by the large glass windowpane and fired a round. The man wrenched back as the bullet grazed his arm, dropping his pistol and grabbing his shoulder in pain.

“Freeze! FBI,” Ethan shouted. He could not register any detail in the man’s figure, a silhouette against the bright sun coming in through the window pane. Without resistance, the shooter raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Get on the ground, face down with your hands behind your head, now!” Ethan bellowed. Daring a glance away from the assassin, Ethan noted a large blue duffel bag lying open just next to the shooter. Haphazardly jutting from the bag he caught sight of the half disassembled murder weapon.

Jason entered the room with Sean on his six and took position alongside Ethan, cutting off the exits.

“I swear I checked this room,” Sean asserted in disbelief.

“We’ll deal with that later, dammit,” Ethan said, maintaining his focus on the shooter, trying to overlook Sean’s mistake.

Over the earpiece, an agent confirmed what they had hoped not to hear: the Congressman was dead. The sting of failure pierced Ethan’s body.

The sniper cocked his head. Though his features were obscured in shadows, he seemed to smile. Ethan thought he detected a foreign accent— perhaps Asian— in the man’s harsh voice, but could not quite place it.

“Sounds like you failed.”

How did he hear that?
Ethan thought. Suddenly a realization flooded into Ethan’s mind. They had been led astray and to the slaughter. How had he been so blind?

Before Ethan could utter another word a shot rang out behind Ethan, then another. He swung around, catching Jason’s shocked eyes. He stared back at Ethan in pain. Blood seeped between Jason's fingers as he clutched his chest.

In that instant, time slowed. The fear that had surged through Ethan was supplanted by anguish. He brought his Glock up and placed Sean in his sights, and pulled the trigger.

Sean jerked out of the way in the nick of time. Sean retrained his aim. Adrenaline pumping, Ethan ducked and rolled, diving behind one of the large steel support beams. Taking a chance he leaned around the beam and caught Jason’s brown eyes. Inside Ethan was torn apart as Jason’s eyes pleaded with him for more time.

“Etha… Eth… Ethan…” Jason tried between blood filled coughs. Ethan reached out to him. Jason’s eyes fluttered in confusion, his breathing came in spasms. One last breath escaped his lips and Jason’s eyes went cold. His body thudded to the concrete.

No!

A ping rang off the metal support beams, then another. Ethan’s body quaked, but he held back the tears and let the anger hold him up.

Jason!

Ethan pulled himself together and took inventory. He still had his weapon and a full magazine. He dared a glance around the beam, nearly taking a bullet to the face. The assassin was knelt down by his bag. He was packing his rifle with expert speed, almost mechanized. The sweat trickling down his face was the only sign he knew of the surrounding chaos. A patch of sunlight hovered over the man. As Ethan took aim, a round skimmed his arm. He reeled back, pulling his arm close, cradling it.

“Come on man, get out of here. I have to call this in and you can’t be here.” Sean’s voice, imploring his cohort, was coming from somewhere out of sight behind Ethan.  “I’ll deal with this.”

Ethan took a deep breath and tried to ascertain where Sean was standing. Judging by the trajectory of the last few bullets that zipped past his head, he was on Ethan's six. A few moments that seemed like hours passed.

“Ethan, you should have just taken my advice and started up higher,” Sean admonished, attempting to antagonize Ethan into giving up his cover. “Everything would have been okay. Your poor friend here would still be alive.” He paused. “Now I have to kill both of you.”

Ethan closed his eyes, refusing to let Sean break him. His heart burned. The man in coveralls had finished packing his rifle—and was about to run.

“Let’s go!” Sean howled at the shooter. At that, the man sprang into action, sprinting toward the door.

Ethan let go of the fear that held him in place and spun around the beam while Sean was distracted. Adrenaline coursed through him, slowing down everything around him. He followed the shooter’s blue and white coveralls as he barreled across the open space. Just above the neckline of his shirt Ethan spotted a black mark.  He had no time to analyze it; instead he locked the shooter in his sights and pulled the trigger.

The shot clanged off the wall behind him. He retrained his aim, catching sight of the mark again. In an instant he recalled the video footage from the Daniels murder. It was the same dagger tattoo.

A shot rang out as a bullet nicked his side, sending him reeling back behind the steel column. Ethan clutched his side and groaned in pain. He pulled his hand back, wet with blood.

Damn!
He caught sight of the assassin running out into the hallway. He was so close.

“This is Agent Abrams, I have an agent down. I repeat, I have an agent down. I’m taking fire in the CNN Center. Requesting immediate assistance. Agent Shaw is in league with the shooter,” Sean lied over the radio.

What is happening?

He had to get out of here. He raised his pistol, almost kissing it, his eyes closed. Sean took another shot, hitting somewhere past Ethan, then a
click, click
from an empty magazine.

Okay.

Ethan spun away from the beam’s protection and shot wildly in Sean's direction. Sean ducked, struggling to reload his pistol under fire. Ethan acquired Sean in his sights and fired. Sean wound back as the round grazed the side of his chest.

Ethan rolled to the ground as Sean regained his composure. Abandoning his weapon, Sean lurched toward Ethan, sending his fist square into Ethan’s face. Ethan fell back to the ground, a smashing pain throbbed in his jaw. Another fist landed on his chest, knocking the air out of him. He pushed the shock aside and put his arms up to take the brunt of the beating.

Sean’s barrage lightened for a moment and Ethan took his chance. He drew back his arm and punched with all his strength, connecting with Sean’s jaw, sending him rolling to his back.

Ethan jumped to his feet, his head blazing. He punched Sean square in the nose, knocking his head back onto the hard concrete floor. Ethan could not risk failing to take advantage of Sean’s momentary vulnerability.  He spun Abrams around and leaned his weight down on the man’s body. He latched his arms around Sean’s neck and clutched tight.

Sean gagged under his grasp. His eyes pled in panic as air hissed through his constricted windpipe. As he held on, Ethan turned toward Jason. He stared into his friend's lifeless eyes as the blood pooled beneath him.  Tears streamed down Ethan’s face. He tightened his stranglehold around Abram’s neck, anger flooding through him. Sean’s movements started to slow. It was almost over. With all his attention focused on keeping himself alive, Ethan had missed the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

“Freeze! FBI,” an agent shouted. Ethan’s attention snapped to the door, and he found himself staring straight down the barrel of a gun. Four other agents stood with their firearms aimed at Ethan. “Let him go, now!”

“I didn’t do it! He was my friend, for God’s sake!” Ethan yelled back. “Agent Abrams is the mole.” He did not know what else to say.

The men were not convinced. They were Abrams’s men, and they had caught Ethan trying to strangle him. What could he do? He refused to take the fall for the death of his friend, to be known for all time as a domestic terrorist. His mind was on fire with thought. If he let them take him he knew he would end up in some dark prison cell for the rest of his life with no opportunity to prove his innocence. Domestic terrorist, as he was sure to be labeled, rarely got their day in court.

He looked over to Jason’s body.
I’m so sorry.

One hand firmly around Sean’s neck, he reached for his gun on the floor behind him. He kept Sean’s body between him and the other agents, daring them to shoot. He knew the chamber was empty, but they did not. Snatching up the pistol, he placed the gun to Sean’s temple and stood up, forcing Sean to get to his feet. He squeezed hard around Sean’s neck as he struggled to get free. He needed to keep up the ruse before Sean’s men caught on.

He walked back toward the side door, holding the gun firmly in place.

“Freeze or we’ll shoot!”

Ethan hoped they were bluffing, that they would not risk hitting Sean. He got to the door and leaned closer to Sean’s ear and whispered, “I will find you.”

Abruptly he shoved Sean forward, aiming his empty pistol at the agents. They flinched just long enough for him to rush through the side door as a shot burst out next to him. He sprinted through the next room and back into the hallway. He had a couple seconds advantage, just enough to reach the staircase door at the end of the hall as another shot cracked into the wall above his head.

As he rushed down the stairs two at a time, he changed the magazine in his Glock. Voices and frantic footsteps echoed in the stairwell above him. He glanced up as he ran, sending two rounds spraying up the flights overhead to slow down his pursuers.

Ethan knew he had to get out of the stairwell. He hit the second floor platform and paused. If he remembered correctly, there was a sky bridge connecting the CNN building with the Omni Hotel on the second floor. He had to take the chance. As if in confirmation, a bullet ricocheted off the railing next to him.

He slammed into the door release and sprinted out into the opening, nearly knocking an elderly man over as his sprang forward. He plowed through a crowd, interrupting a morning tour through the complex. Open offices scattered the floor to his right, and monitors flanked the wall. Behind him, he heard the door slam shut and then open again.

“FBI, get down! Get down!” voices barked from behind him as the agents rushed into the opening.

Shocked by the sudden incursion, most the crowd just looked on in disbelief instead of dropping to the floor.  In their momentary torpor, they had unwittingly bought Ethan a few more seconds. The agents were having trouble sifting through the crowd. At the end of the room, Ethan caught sight of a large hallway with a sign reading Hotel Sky Bridge above it.

Thank God!

A sliver of hope sprang through his veins. Ethan pressed harder toward the bridge. Adrenaline flowed through his veins, pushing him forward. A shot rang out behind him, sending a monitor bursting into sparks on the other side of the room. The crowd had made a path and Sean’s men were opening fire. Panic erupted over the floor. Screens exploded as shots peppered the wall. Frightened shrieks echoed around the corridor.

Ethan feared he had made the wrong decision as he reached the sky bridge. There was no cover, nothing to hide behind, just a long open glass expanse between the two buildings. The crowd had thinned out considerably since the first shots which gave his pursuers less reason to pause. He would have to sprint as fast as he could.

Gun in hand, Ethan swung his arms hard as he entered the bridge, pumping his legs as quickly as he could manage. With each swing his side burned, shooting pain up his chest, slowing him down. A shot zinged by, shattering a panel of glass several yards ahead of him. Cold air rushed in, smacking against his skin like an arctic frost.

“Freeze, Ethan!” He knew that gruff voice. It was Abrams.

Ethan estimated the remaining distance to the bend around the corner ahead. Too far. Abrams could easily put a bullet in his back before he made it another five steps. He froze just by the broken window and turned slowly. He kept his pistol down, but ready.

There’s got to be a way out.

“Drop your weapon Shaw!” Abrams shouted with his pistol up and ready.

“I didn’t kill Jason… He was my friend.” Ethan held back the quaking. “I had nothing to do with the Congressman’s death.”

Ethan pleaded to the group of agents that stood behind Abrams. He knew it was pointless, but it needed to be said. It had to be spoken aloud for everyone to hear.

“Why are you doing this?” Ethan demanded of Abrams.

From the corner of his eye, Ethan caught sight of a flatbed tow truck making its way down the street. That’s it. He kept his eyes trained on Abrams, but kept sight of the truck as it neared.