EVO Universe 1: The First (24 page)

He was about to get up and walk around when the door flew open as Armitage barraged in with a face that could split stone. It almost made Hampton pee on himself a little bit. The last time someone interviewed him about Sophia was almost three days ago in the safety of his own office. The female agent who came with a couple of files presence and mannerism was a billion times nicer than the old bruiser before him was.

Armitage looked at him as if he stole something from him grabbing one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table dragging it around purposely making a screeching sound before placing it right next to Charles. He took a seat using the back of the chair as armrests staring right through Hampton who nervously looked at Armitage peering into his very soul at the corner of his eye. Sweat was now trickling down the side of his forehead, and he had that tinkling feeling again.

“Dr. Hampton,” Mark said as calmly as possible, “What did my agent tell you after she interviewed you at the hospital you work at?”

Charles slowly turned his head to look directly at Armitage, which appeared to piss him off even more. He swallowed lightly not making any sudden moves and thinking before he spoke.

“Um…excuse me?” he was not trying to play dumb; his mind actually went blank from fear.

Armitage exploded out of his chair startling Hampton who almost fell out of his. He then marched over to the door flying it open.

“Agent Morella Sanchez! In here! Now!!” Mark barked.

Agent Morella Sanchez, an agent of five years walked in with her brunette hair pulled back adjusting the black squared glasses on her face; although she did not try to show it, she looked just as nervous as Hampton being ordered into the room by Armitage’s command which could probably be heard through the entire building.

“Sir?” asked a nervous Agent Sanchez.

“What did you tell Dr. Hampton on September 3rd 2008 after you interviewed him at 15:00 hours which is 3:00 PM in his office?” Mark ordered her to respond.

“That if he was to come in contact with Sophia Dennison, he was to alert us immediately,” she relayed.

“Because?” he ordered her to continue.

“Aiding and abetting an escaped convict,” she cited, “A federal fugitive is a crime punishable up to two years or more in prison…”

“Thank you, now get out,” he ordered.

“Yes sir,” as quickly as she scurried out, Mark once again slammed the door closed walking over to Hampton setting up his chair, and taking a seat to stare him down like a cobra again.

“Almost half a day after that conversation I have Intel that Ms. Dennison made contact with you,” Mark said calmly, “And you did not contact this office, which means you…broke…the…law.”

Hampton made another hard swallow to moisten his severely dry throat. This maybe the first time he had met and dealt with Agent Armitage, but he could tell that this man had reached his limit, and the slightest thing could set him off.

“Look...Agent Armitage,” Charles slowly began as if reasoning with a bear, “If you’re trying to intimidate me it’s working, but if you want me to tell you where she is, or what she has planned. I do not have a clue. She contacted me after what happened on Interstate 10. She told me she wasn’t running anymore, that she was going to find the people who really murdered her husband. She told me she didn’t want me involved anymore, she didn’t tell me anything, she just said goodbye and hung up the phone. I swear that’s the truth.”

“Who does she believe murdered her husband?” Mark asked.

“Not believe…knows…her husband was murdered but three people, two men and a woman,” he explained, “She believes the woman did the stabbing, because she saw her sitting on top of him holding the cake knife from their wedding. She described them as wearing some ninja like black sci-fi armor and a symbol on the left shoulder of a Grim Reaper holding a scythe in one hand, and a skull in the other sitting on a large skull.”

Hampton’s description not only caught Mark off guard, it sent a sickening chill down his spine.

Charles caught it, “You know what I’m talking about…don’t you?”

“She described that symbol to you?” he pressed Hampton.

“To the tee, another thing,” Charles clarified, “Along with her physical abilities, which you’ve probably witnessed firsthand…she has the ability to remember everything that she’s ever read, saw, or heard in her entire life, her mind is like a super computer allowing her to access any memory she has at will. I don’t know if you looked at her criminal files, but the reason why she kept saying she had no memory of opening an account, withdrawing money from an ATM, or driving to Oklahoma is because she never did those things. Call me crazy, but I believe someone else looking like her did those things to frame her.”

Armitage knew that Hampton was not feeding him a line of bull; he had put enough of the fear of the Federal Government in him so he would not lie to him. As he looked into his eyes, it was clear Hampton at this point did not care about jail time; he wanted to clear his friend’s name.

“You sit here…think about what you did,” Mark scolded him, “And I’ll be back to decide whether to charge you or not.”

Mark got up out of his seat quickly exiting the interrogation room so that Hampton could not see him sweat; he went to meet up with Mercer to deliver shaking news when Dustin came from around the corner from his own interrogation looking just as pale as Armitage.

“You won’t believe what the good Lieutenant just told me,” Dustin started.

“Tales about the bogeymen?” guessed an unnerved Mark.

“What the hell is going on Mark, what did we just walk into?” Dustin whispered apparently at his wits end, “a US government issued Death Squad…what the?”

“What did Lieutenant Scott tell you?” Mark asked comparing notes.

“Oh about a massacre in a town in Ramadi, Iraq,” Dustin threw out visibly disturbed, “Where an entire freaking town was wiped out. He believes his best friend the late Lieutenant Matheson was killed by the very same individuals who did the massacre for either doing his own investigation on them or over a super solider program; which would be so easy to call bullshit on except for the fact that his
widow
single handily made us look like bitches on Interstate 10.”

“Back up,” Mark asked now confused, “What super solider program and what massacre in Ramadi?”

Dustin tried his best to break it down verbatim, “Almost four years ago, three days before he had his last conversation with Matheson, Scott and his squad entered a town in Ramadi looking for insurgents. He and his squad found an entire town wiped out in the middle of the night; the assassins apparently slaughtered everyone with
just
bladed weapons. A little boy survived the massacre and described a symbol on one of the assassin’s left arm of a….”

“A Grim Reaper with a scythe in one hand and a skull in another sitting on a large skull…Dennison described the same thing to Hampton,” Mark finished his sentence.

Dustin nodded, “Lieutenant Scott said she told him they were in their bedroom the night her husband was killed…a woman and two men.”

“Has he been in contact with her today?” Mark asked hoping he was.

“He said no,” Dustin shook his head, “And I believe him.”

“Why didn’t he come forward with this?” Mark asked officially beside himself.

Dustin looked at Mark wondering how he could ask such a stupid question, “The guy was court marshaled and dishonorably discharged for trying to uncover the truth. He was then “warned” of severe repercussions if he leaked a now “highly classified mission” to anyone; that’s what happened. Seriously?! American soldiers “happen” to stumble upon a town brutally massacred, how do you think that’s going to go over?! No doubt there are a million and one gag orders burying this incident deeper than I did the neighbor’s cat!”

Mark nodded in agreement then asked, “What about this super solider program?”

“Speculation, Matheson was murdered while Scott was overseas,” Dustin sighed, “At least a month and half after the incident in Ramadi. He never spoke to him about a super solider program. Dennison told Scott that her husband was receiving treatment at a VA hospital, and that she noticed he was getting significantly better from his injuries. The reason she went to her ex-father-in-law’s house was that she believed General Matheson was responsible for enrolling him into this alleged project. ”

“Which VA hospital?” Mark asked preparing to send agents there to investigate.

“Records show he was going to Michael E. DeBakey VA Medical Center,” said Dustin always with the answer on his lips.

“We need to get his records, and whoever he was seeing while he was there. I’d also like to get a personal interview with General Matheson,” Mark quickly decided.

“You know this is walking right into military territory,” cautioned Dustin.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if we’re stepping into the Pope’s territory,” Mark responded officially fed up, “It’s time we get some real goddamn answers…it’s time we get the truth.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

September 6, 2008, 5:00 PM Eastern Standard Time, “Low profile…low profile…,” she said to herself repeatedly as she walked with her head down in the streets of D.C. She had been there for most of the day undetected since arriving around 8 O’clock yesterday.

After the battle in Texas and making it to the nation’s capital, she decided it best to stay under the radar until she figured out her next step. As she told Charles, she had taken some of the money he had kept for her, lining the back of her former Goth jacket with bailout money in case she could not go back to his apartment. It was also the reason why she really gave Mercer the dirty look when he shot her in the back during the chase. Luckily, the semi-automatic bullets from his Heckler & Koch did not riddle all of her spending cash. She found a seedy motel to take a much-needed hot shower, and stay off the streets until morning where she could go shopping for some much-needed clothes. Not that she didn’t stop along the way to change her bullet riddled outfit before getting to Washington; her black and white Converse which served her faithfully since she acquired them in Cypress finally gave out halfway between Arkansas and Tennessee. She stopped at a Sports Authority in Memphis to acquire two pairs of decent running shoes, a running outfit, and a new book bag.

When business opened in DC, She went on a part shopping part recon mission.

While casing the neighborhood of the building that was the target of her harebrained plan, she purchased some new black jeans, a pair of cute mid heel boots in her size, a new black hooded sweatshirt and a nice blue slim racing jacket. In her hand was a bag full of other items she purchased along with something to eat from Taco Bell.

Now she was heading back to the motel, not that she really needed any sleep; she felt it was best to stay off the streets especially in the Nation’s Capital. Her confrontation with the General got her nowhere, and although she escaped once again she did not achieve what she set out to do, she was no closer to finding out who the D.E.A.D was or any additional leads on how to find them, her name was plastered all over the news, and people were now generally afraid of her. People looking at her as the bad person did not serve her cause. She needed to figure out a new tactic in order to achieve her goal.

She thought about seeing her parents one last time, but that was now out of the question. She figured their house would now be crawling with agents and probably the military; the last thing she needed was to bring a firefight like Houston to where they lived. They would have to go on without seeing her for a little while longer.

As she walked aimlessly down Good Hope Road she did not notice that she walked past a bunch of “brothers” gawking and making cat calls beckoning her to holler at them (street slang for come over and talk to them); she just kept walking; heading back to her motel room where she could get her thoughts in order.

“Well fuck you ya nasty bitch!” shot out one of the men named Deuce.

Deuce stood about six foot six with two hundred and seventy pounds of pure muscle in a black ribbed tank top that appeared as if it was struggling to stay on him, while his jeans pants fought to stay up under his rear revealing his blue and white striped boxers. All Sophia heard was the buzz of a bug she could crush, sticking to her keep a low profile mission was the only reason she was being merciful.

“Nobody wants yo funky…,” Before he could even finish his next lewd sentence she turned on her heel dropping her bags and was airborne a good twenty feet up, when she landed, it was with a double ax handle smash to the hood of his custom Escalade with the trimmings.

She figured it was his considering he was standing right next to it, while it was pumping Black Rob’s “Whoa” from its custom system inside.

Sophia remembered…she hated bugs, especially the annoying ones that did not know when to stop buzzing.

The impact was equivalent to a fifty-ton construction beam dropped from 100 feet up, caving in the front of the SUV, obliterating the engine, blowing out his two front tires along with his front window, and crushing his two front custom twenty-six inch rims. The back end of the SUV shot up as if it was doing a handstand before crashing violently back down to Earth. Deuce stood in the same spot he was in not moving an inch, covered in fresh new sweat as his associates who were laughing and giggling at his remark earlier laid sprawled out on the floor beyond terrified at what they just witnessed.