Milwaukee Deep

He clenched his fists and raised them up against his chest in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

As each moment passed he knew they were coming.

At first it was only one, but now there were three distinctively different howls – each one of them at thirty second intervals.

It felt like forever - listening, waiting for the next round of terror.

‘Twenty five one thousand, twenty six one thousand’… he couldn’t help but count…

’Twenty seven one thousand, twenty eight one thousand’… he braced himself for the sounds

’Twenty nine one thousand, thirty-’

His eyes tightened… “OH GOD, NO!”

Sam turned to Michael, apprehension etched on both their faces.

“Michael, are you okay?”

Michael looked around – he was back in the plane.

He took a deep breath.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his breathing heavy and the sense of dread still hovering over him, “I think I was dreaming.”

“Wait let me get you a drink,” said Sam.

Sam pressed the buzzer for assistance – the light above him lit up.

A young stewardess came up to both men and smiled.

“Could we have some water, please?” asked Sam

“Certainly,” she replied and walked away down the aisle.

“Just sit back and relax, Michael, we’re nearly home,” Sam said, “It won’t be long now.”

Michael took another deep breath. He rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes.

“All I want to do is go home,” he said softly…

“I just want to go home.”

“They’ve arrived, Tom,” said Tony Cheapston, his hand close to his mouth as he spoke into his radio.

The earpiece crackled back, “Are they alone?”

“Yes,” he replied, “how do you want us respond?”

“Cheapers listen to me,” replied Harding, “the target is not the Agent – we’re not in the business of taking out one of our own, do you understand? Wait until the target has been released from FBI custody, over.”

“Copy that,” replied Cheapers, “we’ll follow them until the target’s alone.”

It was an old military trick to demean the enemy, usually with derogatory terminology, but when the “enemy” was one of yours in both looks and nationality then objectification was called for. The human being they were planning to kill was nothing more than a target. The psychologists reasoned it might help killers with a conscience sleep better at night. Target practice was so much nicer than a kill.

“Good, and make sure this goes down without a hitch, you read.”

“No problems.”

“I mean it, Cheapers; our ass is on the line.”

“I understand, Tom…Cheapers out.”

Cheapston turned to Karidis who sat quietly next to him in the car…

“What does he think I am, a fucking novice”?

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Karidis, “have you got the clean up crew on standby?”

“They’re waiting. We put the call in and they’ll be with us in twenty seconds.”

“You know, Cheapers, killing this guy is not my concern, but I tell you, if we hack the clean up job then we’re all as good as dead.”

Cheapers reached over to the glove box and pulled out two white plastic masks.

“That’s why we shoot wearing these – no point in taking any chance with contamination.”

Karidis turned to his left, his binoculars back up to his eyes.

“Put the call through – they’re both getting into their car,” he said.

Cheapers put his hand to his mouth again…

“Esterson, this is Cheapers, subject is leaving now in blue Cadillac.”

He put down his microphone and picked up the digital camera he had sitting in his lap. Three quick clicks were all he needed. He plugged the lead from the laptop that sat in between both men directly into the camera and typed on the keyboard. He then picked up his microphone and started to speak.

“I’m sending identification of the target now – acknowledge receipt, repeat, acknowledge receipt.”

“Got it,” came through the reply over the earpiece.

“Good,” said Cheapers, “Take them as they exit the airport, we’ll fall back to second rendezvous point and cross over in forty minutes.”

“That’s affirmative; we’re on the roll, over.”

Special Agent Perks sat silent as the Secretary of Defence, George Francis Willow, was once again on his cell phone.

“General, is it under control?” Willow asked, “And when do we anticipate completion of task. Okay, good, keep me informed of the outcome,” and the phone was again back in his pocket.

Willow turned to Anthony.

“So tell me, Agent Perks, how long am I going to have to wait here before I find out who the hell’s got my daughter?”

“Sir, I promise you it won’t be long, but right now we need more time – the fingerprints we pulled were inconclusive – we’re running them now through two more databases – we’ll find him, Sir, don’t worry about that.”

Willow rubbed his hand through his greying hair.

“Well how long does it take?” he demanded – his frustration growing with every passing second, “You’re the God damn FBI for Christ’s sake!”

“Sir, I understand how you must feel, but until these results are in, unfortunately, it’s a waiting game,” Perks replied

The United States Secretary of Defence stared back at Agent Perks – as influential and as powerful a man he was, at that moment he felt more helpless and alone than ever …

“If that’s the case,” he finally retorted, “I’m not staying in this room a minute longer. I’m going back to my hotel and I’ll wait for you there. Once you find out who is holding my daughter, meet me there and tell me what your next plan of attack is. I’m at the Four Seasons.”

“Certainly, Sir,” said Perks, grateful for the freedom.

Willow stood and walked out of the room. The Secret Service Agent standing post outside the briefing room followed him down the hallway.

Anthony waited a moment for both to clear the area and then pulled out his cell phone.

He dialled Myles’ number.

“Robert, what’s your status?”

“Sorry, Anthony, but I’m getting nowhere. These files have been tampered with. Every turn I take leads me to another road block.”

“So what are you telling me?” asked Perks

“There’s nothing I can do – everything about this guy, other than what they wanted us to know, is classified.”

“Damn it.”

Perks took a moment.

“Okay, Willow’s just gone back to his hotel room, so meet me at the Four Season in twenty minutes – we’re going to have to tell him something.”

“But what?” asked Myles?

“I don’t know, but I can’t keep putting this off. Just meet me in the lobby in twenty.”

David Reese Ganton briefly checked behind himself as he bent over the sink. Hillary Willow sat silently on the floor, staring back at him. Even though the room was dark, he knew she could see the blood around his mouth - she’d heard him coughing it out for the last ten minutes.

“I’ve got your father to thank for this,” he said quietly, as again he coughed up another thick red ball of blood into the basin.

Hillary didn’t respond – she couldn’t – the black tape was still tightly fastened over her mouth.

“For twenty years they had me locked up in that freezer, with me waiting, hoping to die - all because of him.”

Again he coughed over the sink – more blood splattered the ceramic bowl.

“Well he’s going to know pain, like I have, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Ganton paused for a moment. He looked down at the young woman bound on the concrete floor.

“For so many years I’ve waited for this day – for the last six months I’ve done nothing but plan this.”

He coughed up some more blood into the sink.

Wiping his mouth with the blood soaked cloth, he continued, “Did you know I watched you for so long that in the end I could predict your every move?”

Hillary moaned behind her gag – the thought of being watched by this man made her sick to her stomach.

“It’s all about him, though - your father, the man who took away my life. Well, now he’s going to pay - and unfortunately for you, Hillary, to hurt the ones you hate, you sometimes have to hurt the ones they love.”