EVO Universe 1: The First (27 page)

“What are you doing Doug?” Mark barked over the mayhem, “You gonna bring the entire building down on top of her?”

“That was my plan!” Dustin pointed to himself sarcastically wanting credit.

“We’re doing whatever is necessary to put an end to this today,” announced King, “Whatever happens, Sophia Dennison does not walk off the steps of that building!”

“She was doing a buck ten in Texas on foot out running a fleet of squad cars on Interstate 10. There’s no friggin way those turrets are going to hit her,” Mark informed King, “And if they get lucky, and you do wound her, not only is she going to heal, but she’s going to be impervious to shell fire. She gets stronger every time you try to hurt her.”

“We intend to use concentrated firepower on her,” instructed Sergeant Major Abram, “Aiming strictly for the head and torso area until she goes down.”

“With all due respect Sergeant Major you haven’t been watching YouTube,” Mark updated him; “We tried the firing squad method it didn’t put a dent in her! All you’re going to do is have a ton of ricochets and get a lot of people hurt!”

“So what should we do Special Agent?” King said putting Mark on the spot.

“For almost six days straight all everyone has ever done is shot at this woman,” advised Mark, “Why don’t we attempt to do the dumbest thing in the world, and try to talk to her.”

“Talk to her?” King said not appreciating Armitage’s sarcasm.

“I volunteer to do it,” Mark raised his hand, “What do we have to lose?”

An FBI agent stuck his head out of one of the command stations trying to get the attention of everyone in the group, specifically the Executive Assistant Director, “Sir! You might want to get in here! CNN is about to put her on the air!”

Without a word, King, Armitage and everyone else in the huddle made a beeline to the command station to see what was going on upstairs.

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Back upstairs on the CNN newsroom set, Sophia stood ready as CNN now scrapping its previously scheduled news show prepared to introduce her live from their studio; allowing her to say what was on her mind to the world after being on the run for almost six days.

She swallowed hard and carefully clutched the microphone so as not to crush it by accident as a pool of sweat washed over her. She found it quite ironic that after all the running, and fighting she had done she barely broke a sweat, but standing there she could feel it dripping down her back. She was still human all right, hopefully those watching would still see that as she was about to address probably then entire country and beyond in less than a minute. With her heels back on, she nervously smoothed out her suit to look presentable on the air.

The production manager gave the cue to begin the broadcast again, “Ready…in five…four…three…two…one…”

“Good Morning again,” began Carol Costello, “We are interrupting this regularly scheduled news program for this exclusive statement from Sophia Dennison, the escape death row inmate fugitive from the Mountain View Unit in Gatesville, Texas who has been on the run for almost six days evading local police, the F.B.I and quite possibly the military. Somehow she has managed to make it to our newsroom, and would like to make the following statement here live, so without further interruption…Sophia Dennison.”

The camera panned from Costello to Sophia who now looked like a deer in headlights. The knowledge that probably millions of people were watching her right now put a serious knot in her stomach.

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At the Gatesville Women’s Prison, inmates almost rioted as they cheered her on rejoicing in the mess hall. Bishop was the loudest of them all jumping up on one of the tables screaming at the top of her lungs and then Crip walking across the table.

Sister Shareef just sat there with a broad smile on her face as tears flowed from her eyes; she looked up and pointed wagging a finger, “You are awesome.”

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In a small town in Missouri, recovering from both her wounds and broken life a mother watched in disbelief on her parents’ living room couch holding her son. He pointed at the television at the very woman, who saved his mother’s life a couple of nights ago, the same woman who once lived next door to her.

“It’s super lady mommy!” Ethan gleefully pointed.

Tears fell from Tammy’s eyes with a smile on her face, “I see…I see…”

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In Houston, a near broken family minus their Patriarch, who had apparently both gravely lied and deceived them for years; huddled together to hear the truth about what really happen to the brother they all loved and missed from the only other person they now knew within their hearts really loved him to the end.

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While in Mount Vernon, New York, a mother fell to her knees with tears in her eyes, along with a father sobbing equally for joy beholding a child they long thought lost to them standing alive and well.

“Thank you Jesus!” Mrs. Dennison cried uncontrollably, “Thank you Jesus! Thank you Jesus! Thank you Jesus!”

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Back in the studio, the back of the set was crowded with every staff member from CNN watching Sophia like hawks, which did not make it that much easier for her as they prepared to hang off her every word. She closed her eyes, imagined what she wanted to say for all of those years, and then opened her eyes again.

“My name is Sophia Dennison,” she began, “Formerly Sophia Matheson…four years ago I was convicted for the murder of my husband Lieutenant Robert Matheson and sentenced to death by lethal injection…and despite what you heard in the news…I did not escape…I was executed for that crime almost six days ago…”

Throughout the news station were whispers and nervous looks, while masses huddled wherever there was a television transfixed on what she was saying.

“Don’t ask me to explain the unexplainable,” she continued, “I don’t know why I am still alive… standing here before you…what I do know…is that I didn’t kill my husband.”

She affirmed, “My husband was murdered by a black Ops death squad known as the D.E.A.D which was created by our very own United Stated Government. There are four individuals on this team…only four…they have committed acts of murder and violence around the world on behalf of our government in secrecy for years…they brutally murdered my husband for reasons that I do not yet know, and then framed me for his murder. I don’t expect anyone to believe the words that I say, and at this point I don’t really care…”

A stone coldness grew on Sophia’s face, as she made her final statement which was clearly a declaration of war, “I came here to let everyone who has been looking for me know that I’m not hiding nor running anymore…and I will not be going back to prison. I came here to let those four individuals who took my husband from me and turned my life upside down know that I may not know your names, or your faces…but I do remember your voices and the emblem you wear on your uniform. The symbol of a Grim Reaper sitting on top of a large skull holding a scythe in one hand and a skull in the other. I want you to know that when I walk out of this building…I will be coming to hunt you down and to kill all four of you, and anyone else responsible…that’s pretty much it…thank you and have a nice day…”

With a wave and a nervous smile, she walked over to the broadcast desk putting the microphone down, picked up her book bag and proceeded to leave the set, as a very bewildered Carol Costello looked at the cameras unsure how to follow up Sophia’s mind-blowing statement. People moved out of the way, as she proceeded to walk out of the studio through the office again to take the steps back down to the lobby. She decided to take her time knowing what awaited her outside; going to the bathroom first to change.

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Inside the command station, Armitage looked a now unnerved King in the eyes to get the okay to try to end this peacefully.

King massaged his left eyelid in frustration, “You’ve got ten minutes…you only…and if she walks through those doors without her hands behind her head ready to surrender…you better not be there.”

Mark does not even answer him bolting out the door with Mercer following him.

“What the hell are you going to say to her?!” Dustin quickly asked following behind.

“I don’t know…,” he shrugged while running, “Please come in and talk to us and not wreck half of DC,” I’ll think of something…just have my back on the ground and make sure no one does something stupid to get me killed.”

Agents and soldiers who already received the radio command allowed Mark through the perimeter where he runs up the steps of the building in hopes of meeting Dennison to talk her down before she came out to a full on assault.

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As expected when she finally reached the ground floor level it was now a ghost town, save for one lone man standing in the lobby by the security desk wearing a bullet proof vest with F.B.I printed in white on the front. His gun was holstered which meant he was here to probably negotiate; the flashing lights outside indicated that the party had arrived in full force.

She changed leaving her clothes and book bag in the bathroom upstairs, putting back on the blue slim leather-racing jacket she wore on Saturday, along with some slim black leather biker pants, and some black military field boots. She was preparing for possible combat and needed a material that could take a little more beating than her old attire.

“I thought this lobby would have been filled with a SWAT team,” she casually said to Mark as if she had spoken to him before.

“We’re looking to not have a repeat of Gatesville,” Mark returned the casual banter, “And every other place you’ve been.”

“I didn’t catch your name…,” she asked now curious about the lone F.B.I agent sent to talk with her.

“Mark Armitage…Special Agent in Charge…” he formally introduced himself to the woman he had been chasing for almost six days.

As she got closer, she looked outside and raised an eyebrow, “Is that a tank I see outside?”

“Actually there are two…M1 Abrams…” he corrected her.

To which she just nodded, “Impressive…”

As she finally reached the security desk, Armitage could not help but take a step back. Compared to him, she was only an inch short, probably shorter without the combat boots she wore. He factored her outfit masking the superior physical specimen she had proven to be these past few days, but he was still expecting someone bigger, more powerful and intimidating; not that her actions did not make her intimidating; her appearance confirmed that he was never chasing a monster or killer. He saw the face of a young woman slightly hardened by force; he saw someone’s daughter.

Sophia wagged her finger at him, “You were the one on the bullhorn, who was screaming for me to surrender at my in-laws’ house and for your people to cease fire on the Interstate…”

“You’re the one who made me and almost every law enforcement branch in Houston look like bitches on YouTube…” he embarrassingly smirked.

Sophia blushed looking down at the floor, “Sorry about that…”

Armitage cracked a smile, in his mind he thought this was good; the proverbial ice was broken and he had a better chance of talking her down.

“You here to asked for my surrender Special Agent Armitage?” she said getting down to the point.

“I’m here to ask you to please come in, and talk to us,” Mark requested.

“See…no…sorry…” she shook her head refusing, “The last time I was brought in to “talk” was almost four years ago. For almost sixteen hours of that “talk”, the Houston legal system tried to force me to confess that I murdered my husband. And when I refused, I was tried, convicted, and sent to rot in a box living like less than an animal in semi-solitary confinement for almost four years before they put a needle in my arm. Do you know what semi-solitary confinement is Special Agent in Charge? It’s less than two hours a week of human contact with the exception of a C.O. barking orders at you…oh…I forgot about the county physician who comes in every six months asking if you a death row inmate has suicidal tendencies…so no…I don’t feel like coming in to talk…”

Strike one Armitage thought to himself, he had to shift this conversation back to an upbeat, something positive, anything for her not to walk out that door by herself with her arms down, “Let’s talk about something you are guilty of…your next door neighbor who you roughed up and almost dropped out of a window…”

“ Yeah…did you see his wife’s face?” she reminded him, “He had stopped when my late husband promised to break every damn bone in his body the next time he put his hands on her…I was just keeping the promise..”

“And what about the guard you killed when you escaped Mountain View…?” he was not trying to push her buttons. This was his chance to find out whom he was really dealing with, and fill in a lot of missing blanks. It was also a delay tactic, giving him time to figure out how to defuse this situation if he could.

Sophia narrowed her eyes; lips quivering with rage at the question of Buck Wilford, Armitage braced a bit thinking she was going to rip his head off for asking, “That “guard”…raped one of the only two friends I had in that hell hole…he had it coming…”

“And then some,” Mark finished her sentence, “Sister Shareef told me the same thing…”