Kill on Command (42 page)

V

She’s Tall . . .

Pittsburgh - Bureau of Police

Late Sunday

Brian took the picture of Sandy and stormed back down to Cindy’s office.  She was still sitting where he had left her.  She looked up as he approached.

“Brian, you look exhausted.”

“I feel like crap.  I did not sleep much after Sean’s accident.”

“Where is the car they found Willis in?”  Brian asked.  He knew part of the team Cindy was on would be going over every inch of the car.

“They are towing it in to the garage.  We are going to tear it to pieces to try and find something.” 

“I don’t think you will find anything.  Whoever did this was very good.  The footage at the hospital was gone.  Everything.  It was made to look like a computer failure,” Brian responded.

“I agree.  These people just vanished into thin air.  Creepy,” she answered, taking a sip of water from a bottle sitting on her desk.

“Sean’s disappearance is driving me nuts.”

“I heard something about that, it’s hard to believe.  Did he fly that bird off the hospital roof?”

Brian sat down across from her.  Unlike Jenkins’ desk, a handful of floors up, Cindy’s was immaculate.  Everything in its place.

“I don’t want to believe it.  He seemed to know the woman that killed those two men.”  He took out the printout from the hospital security tape.  “Here, take a look at this.”

Cindy reached across the desk and took the picture.  She looked at the photo for a moment and then back up at Brian.

“This it?”

“Yeah.  It’s not much.  It took some searching to find it.  She seemed to instinctively know where the cameras were.  She avoided all of them except one in the elevator.  This was all I could get.  Can you do anything with it?”

Cindy scratched her head, put the picture down and looked across at Brian.

“I doubt it.  I can try, but don’t get your hopes up,” Cindy informed him and instantly saw that it was not what Brian wanted to hear.

“Plus, she’s a blonde.”

“So this is not accurate?” Cindy asked.

“No,” he said, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling.  He knew it was not much.  Actually, it was less than “not much.”

“Look, I will scan it.  Give me some details about her and I will see if something comes up,”  Cindy offered, as she fed the picture into the computer.  She hit a few keys and went to another screen.

“OK.  She’s between twenty-four and twenty-seven years old.  Easily six feet tall.  I’d say 120 to 135 pounds,” Brian recalled.

“That’s good,” Cindy exclaimed, entering the data into the computer.  She looked up at the Brian.  “You sure this is not your dream girl?”

“No way.  She scared the shit out of me.  She knocked off these two guys without blinking an eye.  They were not regular joes off the street either. A guy from SWAT thinks they were ex-RECON Marines.  She knew my name.  She knew my friend Michelle’s name.  The whole thing is scary.”

Cindy stopped typing to listen.  Brian had not had time to really talk about it.  She let him keep going.

“It seemed like she had something going with Sean.  After she killed the two Marines, she grabbed him and started kissing him.  She acted like she had known him for a long time, but I have never heard Sean talk about her.”

“Would he have?”  Cindy asked.

“You just heard her description. Sean would have been doing cartwheels if she was going out with him.  He would have told me.  Hell, he would have told everybody.”

Cindy nodded and tried not to smile.  She had met Sean.

“I had the feeling she was planning this for a while.  It was too smooth.  She had a place over at the Pittsburgh Athletic Club. Some kind of safe house.”

“Should we take a look at it?” Cindy asked, looking for any angle.

“It would be a waste of time.  She’s not going to leave anything to find. Shit, she even folded the towels and made the bed.”

“OK.  Let’s finish here,” she said, going back to the computer screen.  “Anything else that would help?”

Brian went through the images Sandy in his mind.

“She moves like an athlete.  A good one.  I would not be surprised if she competed at a high level in college.”

“As tall as she is, it could be volleyball, basketball, rowing. Swimming maybe?”  Cindy suggested.

“It’s possible.”  Brian answered, trying to remember any other pertinent details.

“She have an accent?”  Cindy said, trying to narrow it down further.

“None.”  Brian could not remember anything distinctive.

“Brian, this is going to be close to impossible.  We have some good details, but it is not enough,”  Cindy said carefully.  She knew Brian was worried about his friend. 

“Cindy, where does the CIA go to recruit people?”

“I don’t know.  All over I guess.  I don’t know much about it.”

Brian stared straight ahead.  Sean was always watching those boring documentaries.  He watched anything that was on.  He remembered something on the history of the CIA. 

“Ivy league! They do a lot of recruiting there,” he blurted out. 

Cindy shook her head.

“You think she is CIA?”  Cindy asked, with a bit of skepticism.

“I have no idea, but I would not be surprised.”

“I don’t think it is going to help.  Look, I am going to be tied up on Willis’ murder.  I have two interns coming in on Monday morning.  I will give them the project.  Fresh eyes might help.” 

“Anything on the prints?”  Brian asked.

“No.  It is the strangest thing.  Normally, I get the data back fast.  Nothing,” Cindy replied, glad to have the change in subject.

“You are not going to get anything back.  Either they have been removed, destroyed or we are being blocked.”

“Who would do that?”

“The CIA or some other group.  I bet they killed Willis too.”

“Come on!  They are not supposed to be operating in the U.S.  You sound a little paranoid, Brian.”

“I know what I saw and I know it sounds crazy.  How else do you explain it?”

Cindy shrugged.  Brian did sound a little crazy, but she knew he had been through a lot.

“Thanks for looking into this.”  Brian got up to leave.

“You’re welcome.  We’ll find him.”  Cindy smiled at him.

Brian left Cindy’s office and headed home.  He was beat.  He needed some sleep. 

VI

Officer Down

Pittsburgh - Shadyside

Monday Morning

John got into Pittsburgh early on Monday morning, just before 4 A.M.  He followed the signs to the Pittsburgh International Airport and proceeded to the long-term parking lot in search of a good car to steal and a place to dump the Tahoe.  The airport was the place for both. He drove up and down the lot in the Tahoe looking for the right car.  He spotted a blue Chevy Malibu with tinted windows and Pennsylvania plates.  It looked to be fairly new.  He parked two spots down from the car, got out, opened the rear cargo door and pulled out a small tool kit.   He rummaged through the tool kit until he found an electronic devise that would allow him to instantly gain access to the car.  The device scrambled the security features on the car, causing it to think that it was not being boosted. 

John gained access to the car and got it started in less than twenty seconds.  He took a small bag out of the Tahoe and locked the truck.  He would not be back to get it and wondered how long it would sit there before anyone noticed.  He opened the door to the Malibu, tossed his bag onto the passenger seat, shut the car door and fiddled with the controls to get the heater and defroster going.  It was a crisp morning in Pittsburgh and a thin layer of dew was on the windshield. 

John left the airport and headed towards downtown Pittsburgh.  His stomach was growling, but he ignored it, telling himself that he would get something to eat after killing the cop.  Biscuits and gravy maybe.

Brian found that he could not sleep.  He had tossed and turned all night.  Bailey had left her post at the front window where she was watching for Sean and had jumped into Brian’s bed.  She was restless too and knew something was wrong.  Brian had left his hand on her head most of the night.  He knew it made the dog feel better.  It made him feel better too.   He decided he was not going to get any sleep and got out of bed a little before 5 A.M. and decided to get his day moving.

“We are going to find him.  Don’t you worry,” Brian said to Bailey.  Bailey had her eyes open watching him.  Her brow was furrowed.  It made her look like she was deeply concerned.

Brian started getting dressed.  He looked over at his vest on a leather chair in his room.  He hated wearing it, but he knew it served a purpose.  He picked it up and pulled it over his head and fastened it and then put on his shirt.  The vest was hot in the summer, but with winter coming, it actually helped keep him warm. 

Across the street, in a blue Malibu, John watched the lights go on in Brian’s house. 

“Shit.  So much for killing him in his sleep,” he said aloud.  “I’ll just walk in and shoot him while he eats his cornflakes.”  He checked his suppressed Heckler & Koch USP Compact Tactical pistol.  He figured it would do the trick.  After all, he was just killing a cop today.  He also decided to bring along a M67 grenade.  “Just in case,” he thought to himself.  He placed the grenade in the front pocket of the blue windbreaker he was wearing.  He looked at the gloves he wore on his hands.  He always had them on.  His hands were scarred from the burns he suffered in Iraq.  People always stared.  He hated it.  He got out of the car and jogged across the street towards the house.  The gun was down at his side.

Brian finished getting ready.  He attached his radio to his shirt and checked his service weapon, a Glock 22.  He went downstairs with Bailey not far behind him.  Moving slowly with steps that made him think he was still half asleep, he picked up the remote on the living room couch and turned on the TV.  The inane banter of the local morning show made him quickly decide to make some coffee and go to work. He turned the lights on in the kitchen, opened the dishwasher to get out a coffee cup and started the coffee maker.  Bailey was patiently waiting by the back door.

“Sorry, girl.  I bet you have to go.”  He opened the old kitchen door to the deck and backyard.  The cool morning air blew a couple of dried leaves into the kitchen.  He shut the door when Bailey ran outside.  The glass rattled in the frame.  A 90-year old window will do that. 

John was now on the front porch.  He looked in the window and could see Brian fiddling with something in the kitchen, but did not see the dog, which was good.  He hated dogs.  The MPs always had dogs . . . .

“I think I’ll just kick in the door and kill this cop right in his kitchen,” he said to himself as he lined up his size fourteen boot.

Brian was taking a sip of coffee when he heard the front door explode with a violent crash as it was smashed off of its frame.  The noise made him jump and drop his coffee cup, which fell and shattered on the granite countertop.  Outside, Bailey heard the noise and ran to the kitchen door, barking wildly.  Brian quickly moved towards the noise and was met by a huge man walking through the threshold of the house and raising a gun.  Brian fumbled for his weapon, but was too slow.  John got off two quick shots that caught Brian in the chest.  The .45 caliber slugs mushroomed on his vest, but the tremendous energy expelled by the impact knocked the wind out of him and slammed his back into the edge of the counter.  He slumped to the ground but instinctively toggled his radio.

“OFFICER DOWN!  SHOTS FIRED.  728 SAINT JAMES!” he screamed into his radio, pulling his gun and returning fire.  His shots missed wildly, smashing the TV, hitting the couch and splintering the kitchen doorframe.

Pittsburgh Police Dispatch responded in seconds.

“All units respond.  Officer down.  Shots fired.  728 Saint James.”

There were two cars sitting in the parking lot of one of the Carnegie Mellon dorms, one car at a C-store on Ellsworth and two more patrolling not far from Brian in Squirrel Hill.  All five cars hit their lights and screamed towards St. James.  They all knew who lived there.  They were twenty seconds away.

“How’s that vest officer?”  John taunted from around the corner of the living room wall.

Brian did not respond.  He tried to get a better angle and cover by moving slightly behind the counter. His ribs were killing him and he was certain they were broken or at the very least bruised.

Bailey was barking and jumping against the kitchen door.  The glass was rattling in the frame.

“Not much of a shot are you officer?”

Brian fired a couple of shots into the wall in the direction of the voice.

“These old houses have nice thick walls,” John laughed, as he quickly pivoted and fired a third shot that hit Brian square in the chest.  The force slammed Brian back down to ground and against the kitchen door.  The impact caused him to drop his gun. 

Bailey heard the thud of Brian’s body hitting the door.  She stopped barking and took a dozen steps backwards.

“Those vests are amazing ain’t they, officer?  I bet those ribs hurt.  Don’t worry. The next one is for your face!”  John shouted from the cover the wall afforded him.

The sirens were now right outside.  Blue lights were filling the first floor of the house.  The Pittsburgh Police were desperately trying to make it in time.  They knew every second counted.

Hardwired in Bailey’s soul was the instinct to protect her family - with her life if necessary.  Brian and Sean were her family.  She ran towards the door and with her powerful back legs launched her 75-pound body through the old glass window.

The window exploded above Brian’s head and glass was propelled all over the kitchen. 

At the same time, John entered the kitchen to kill Brian.  He fired and the shot that left his gun intended for Brian’s head, caught Bailey in mid-air and pierced her shoulder.  The force of the shot spun her around and she landed hard on her side with a sickening thud, four feet in front of Brian.

Bailey had bought Brian a second chance and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.  In a flash, he grabbed his service weapon and got off two quick shots.  One caught John in the shoulder. 

John staggered back into the living room.  There were two police cars on the lawn and three more behind.  John was not going to be taken alive.  He charged out the front door with his gun up, firing.  The police returned fire.  Three shots hit him immediately.  He tried to reach into his pocket for the hand grenade, but was too slow.  He fell to his knees.  His shots went wild and hit the windshield of one of the police cars.  He did not get up.  The police fired twenty-nine rounds.  Twenty-three found their mark.  John’s head was nearly blown off his shoulders and his chest was mostly pulp from the barrage.

The shooting stopped and three officers ran through the yard, jumping over what was left of John’s body and into the house. 

There was the sound of an ambulance in the distance.

“Pittsburgh Police!” two officers screamed, with their weapons still drawn.  They quickly made it into the kitchen and found Brian on the floor holding a Boxer’s head in his lap. 

“Brian!  Are you OK?  What the hell?” one of them shouted, checking Brian.  One of the officers ripped open Brian’s shirt to find three mushroomed slugs pressed into the vest.

“We have to get her to a vet,” Brian said, trying to get up.

“No! You are going to the hospital,” one of the other officers answered.

“SHE SAVED MY LIFE!”  Hot tears were running down his face.

The three of them looked at each other and then at Brian on the floor.

“You got it!”  They helped Brian to his feet.  His ribs really felt like they were broken.  Nonetheless, he bent down and picked up Bailey.  He would not let the other officers touch her.  The broken glass crunched under their feet, leaving deep gouges in the hardwood floor.  The cool breeze and more leaves came through the broken window.  Brian’s coffee was dripping down the side of the counter.

“Brian, you have been shot.  Let us,” one of the officers insisted.

“No! I have to do it!”

Brian carried Bailey out the back of the house, and down the driveway with two officers in front and one behind. They were approaching the front of the house when they heard someone yell,

“GRENADE!” 

They had found the grenade in John’s pocket.  They all immediately backed up as they had no idea if the grenade was wired to the body.  An officer was already on the radio, calling for the bomb disposal team.

Brian kept walking.

The street was now filling up with police cars.  Brian carried Bailey over to a waiting car, placed her in the back and got in next to her.  Two of the officers from the house got in front.  The third got into a car behind them.

“There is a 24-hour emergency clinic in Bloomfield!  Hurry!” Brian yelled to the driver.  He hit the siren and the lights and took off.  The second car was right behind them.

The two cars blew through eight sets of lights and slid to a stop in front of the clinic.  Brian was drenched with sweat.  The pain from the gunshots was intense, but at the same time a welcome feeling.  Without the vest he would be dead.  He picked up Bailey and carried her into the clinic, while two officers held the door open.  The two girls working the reception area jumped to their feet.

“HELP!  SHE’S BEEN SHOT!

They both ran around to help Brian.  Two vets appeared from around the corner and motioned to bring her into an exam room.  Brian carefully placed Bailey down on the table and stepped back.  The vets asked what had happened as they listened to her heart and examined her.  She was bleeding badly.  The two vets shook their heads, sadly.

Two more police officers came into the room.  They took off their hats.

“I am sorry there’s nothing else we can do.  She has lost too much blood.”

“No.”  Brian sobbed.  He placed his hands on her head.

Bailey died shortly thereafter. 

No one spoke for a few moments.  Brian kissed her on the head and stroked her one last time.   Finally, one of the officers spoke.

“Brian, we need to get you to the hospital.  We will stay behind to make sure she is taken care of.”

Brian nodded at him.  It was all he could muster.  He staggered out of the exam room into the waiting room of the veterinary clinic.  It was full of police officers, hats off.  There were a dozen cars in front of the clinic.  There was also an ambulance.  EMTs met Brian as he came out of the front doors.  They placed him on a gurney and hustled him into the ambulance.  Another police officer climbed in and they took off for UPMC.  Once inside, the EMTs cut off Brian’s uniform, carefully removed the vest and dropped it on the floor.  The officer riding along picked it up and held it in his hands looking at the mushroomed slugs.  The EMTs cut off his t-shirt and took a look at his chest.  The .45’s did not penetrate the vest.