The Mourning Missed Page 14

  “Ah, there may be more than just us,” Sarge said hesitantly.

  “How so?” Lilly asked.

  “I...went to the Commandant to ask a few general questions and,” he hesitated again. “Well, damnit, he’s a sharp man and I could never keep anything from him. So he knows everything we do.”

  “What?” The other two exclaimed simultaneously.

  “Easy, now, before you go off half-cocked,” Sarge soothed. “I trust him with my life and he had several good points to offer.”

  “But, do you trust him with all our lives?” Lilly asked sharply.

  “Yeah, I do,” he replied stone-faced.

  “What did he have to offer?” Samuels asked to move the tension in the room onto a more positive track.

  “He has three trusted agents working for him who have done selective inquiries in the past on students and officers of questionable integrity,” Sarge supplied. “He has put their considerable skills at our disposal.”

  “Who are they?” Samuels asked.

  “The Rangemaster, Sergeant Andersen; the Armorer, Sergeant Aiko; and the Deputy Commandant, Major Simmons,” Sarge answered.

  “I really like Sergeant Andersen,” Lilly said. “She was straight up with me when she started teaching me marksmanship.”

  “She was very impressed with your skills and with how quickly you learned,” Sarge replied.

  “She’s not the only one,” Phillip said softly.

  Both turned questioning looks at Samuels and he addressed Sarge. “When the assassin came out of the stairwell the night Clint was kidnapped, he had me dead to rights with his feint. I had barely started to react when Lilly shot him three times from 45 feet away. And he was trying a drop and roll when she did it. All three rounds were in a group the size of my fist, center body mass.”

  Lilly colored lightly beneath her golden skin and Sarge gaped. “I hadn’t heard anything about the report other than she killed the shooter.”

  “It was actually 43 feet,” Lilly corrected.

  Both men laughed. The three spent several more hours hashing out a game plan and time table. Even though they had all heard Von Moltke the Elder’s quote on battle plans, they were all nonetheless surprised when it happened.

  Twenty-One

  “STAKE OUTS ARE CLEARLY the scut work of law enforcement,” Sarge groused. “My ass is going to sleep.” They had been sitting in an unmarked unit for nearly three hours; long before daybreak. It was now just before dawn. The street lights, what few were working, still cast their limpid pools of yellow on the pot-hole strewn secondary road.

  “I told you to pump your feet and lift your heels for about thirty seconds and it would prevent that,” Lilly smirked. “Or would you rather I massage it for you?”

  Sarge colored deeply. “I know you don’t mean it but you embarrass me when you say things like that.”

  “Actually, that wasn’t me, that was Clint,” she replied. “He’s started playing fast and loose with my body recently. While I normally wouldn’t mind, it has been cause for some disturbing moments.”

  “How does all that happen?” Sarge asked, clearly bemused and shocked simultaneously.

  “He occupies as much of my brain as I do, which is surprising considering he’s male,” she snarked. “Well, it’s true,” she said, looking at the glove box while she internally dialoged with her soul mate.

  “Hey, since you discovered we could have mind-sex, that’s all you think about,” Clint retorted verbally just for the shock factor it would provide to their friend.

  “Oh, TMI, Lilly,” Sarge complained.

  “That wasn’t me,” Lilly groused.

  “To answer your question, we’ve agreed to a separation of powers,” Clint explained. Sarge was beginning to recognize Clint’s tells when he spoke. His was a slightly deeper voice, his tone and cadence changed, and the diction was crisper; more high-classed.

  “I’m more spatial and intuitive in my thinking, so I naturally gravitate to the right hemisphere of the brain. Lilly is very concrete and orderly, so she occupies the left side. There’s a serious amount of overlap, but it allows me to easily control the left side of her body independently of her thought processes. In life, I was left-handed and she’s a righty,” he concluded.

  “That is some seriously weird shit,” Sarge announced.

  “Amen, brother,” Lilly replied. “You should see it through my eyes.”

  “So, it’s like each of you controls your half of the body?” he clarified. Despite his obvious revulsion at the concept, he was also morbidly curious. “Does one hand feel like it belongs to each of you? I mean, when you touch yourself, does it feel like another person?” Flaming crimson as he realized his faux pas, he stammered out a retraction. “I didn’t mean that kind of touch yourself, I meant...you know...”

  Lilly laughed as she watched her older, more conservative partner squirm in apparent mortification before she finally let him off the hook. “No, I sense everything tactile as if it was my own, but Clint can share in the same information. Curiously, he obtains different information from the same contact. The other day, I picked up an orange and thought it was getting soft. His observation was that the skin felt dry and crepe-like.”

  “I also see and sense things differently in a situation, especially with people,” Clint interjected. “I can tell a lot more about how trustworthy or open a person is than she can.”

  “Finally,” Lilly interrupted. A tractor-trailer was trundling up the narrow two-lane commercial street, its transmission complaining loudly for being over-revved in a low gear. The driver was apparently looking for an address or other landmark in the watery dawn and didn’t want to have to back up on the restrictive surface. A man in black jeans and a black leather jacket stepped from the service entrance and walked quickly toward the locked gate.

  “That’s not a city warehouse uniform,” Sarge commented.

  “And I’m pretty sure the city isn’t issuing automatic weapons to their warehouse personnel,” Clint added, having noted the faint glimmer from the black metal receiver of the TEC-9 strapped across his back.

  “Is the dome light switched off?” Lilly asked.

  “Of course,” Sarge replied testily.

  “Just checking,” Lilly replied, opening the car door just as the trailer lumbered past. “I’m on TAC two.”

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Sarge blurted, reaching for his door handle instinctively in support of his partner’s move.

  “I’m going to climb up the back of the trailer and ride it into the warehouse,” she explained casually, easing the car door closed. “Gotta go.”

  “If you use the radio, they’ll know you’re here,” he hissed vehemently.

  “If I have to use the radio, everyone will know I’m here.”

  Scrabbling in a low crouch around the front of the car, Lilly leapt onto the Mansfield bar and grabbed one of the door latch arms as the trailer passed. Sarge watched in awe as she levered her lithe frame upward so that her feet straddled the twin arms in the center of the doors. Grasping the upright locking rods, she crouch and leapt eight feet straight up, just catching the edge of the roof with her gloved hands. With a quick, gymnastic-like flip, she disappeared over the top.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself.

  ONCE INSIDE THE WELL lit warehouse. Lilly lay flat against the cold metal surface. She urgently wanted to look around but didn’t dare risk exposing her presence. The truck moved slowly along the main travel lane until it stopped near the opposite end of the long, rectangular building. Instantly, voices began calling orders as workers sprang into action. Looking up, Lilly realized she was only three feet below the open girder trusses which held the roof on the building.

  Raising her head just enough to see around, she confirmed there was no one in her line of sight. Holding her head sideways to minimize her profile, she raised it incrementally until she had a good idea of where everyone in the building stood. Looked further down the facil
ity, she spotted what she had hoped would be there; a second-floor office area. The lights were off inside and the dark windows looked like gaping maws in the overhead lights.

  Moving cautiously she stood, watching for any movement from the floor which might indicate she had been spotted. Apparently, everyone involved was focused on unloading the truck or watching for trouble, never thinking to look up. Reaching overhead, she easily pulled her diminutive form onto the cross beam and stood. She was now in the shadows of the roof area, above the suspended High Intensity Discharge lights.

  Stepping lightly, she cat-walked perpendicular to the trailer box; moving away from the bustling crew. Lilly made the railing in front of the offices without detection before she realized her current dilemma. The deck leading to the office door was well-lit and very likely locked.

  “We can’t very well hang around up here all day and our ride is likely to go out the back of the building,” she told Clint.

  “The door is on the opposite end, so there’s little chance they’d see us from this distance if we move slowly,” he replied.

  Moving in exaggerated slow-motion, Lilly climbed across the guard rail and moved to the office door. Trying the knob, she was surprised to find it unlocked. Easing the door open just enough to slip inside, she gently closed behind her. Moving light-footed to the window, she stood relaxed as she watched the workers loading sealed containers from the back of the semi into the waiting vans.

  Their process was well-practiced and they had nearly half of the trailer’s contents already removed in the short time since its arrival. Now she could see they were busy loading two vans at once on either side of the trailer. Two other vans were already idling near the rear doors while a fifth van sat waiting.

  “This is quite the operation,” she mentally noted to Clint. “Those are all city vehicles. I see a Corrections van, one from Public Works, two from Fleet Management, and one more from the Library system. It might be easier to find out who isn’t involved.”

  “Yep, and most of the crew are wearing some form of the city’s maintenance uniform or other service agency,” Clint added in suit. “In fact, it seems like the only non-city employees are the guards.”

  Menacing-looking men - all dressed in black and sporting military haircuts - occupied all four corners of the area immediately around the trailer. They never once looked at the workers. Their focus was on who might attempt to interfere with the operation. They all carried TEC-9s, which were held at low ready.

  “It’s almost like they’re expecting something,” Lilly commented.

  The figure standing behind her in the corner of the darkened room moved with silent grace for one so large. It had crept to within arm’s reach and stood passively watching her for the five minutes she had been cataloging the process evolving on the warehouse floor. Sensing she was ready to leave, the dark figure pulled a heavy, weighted leather sap from a coat pocket and raised it slowly overhead. The only warning Clint or Lilly had was the soft swish of the jacketed arm moving downward to strike behind her ear.

  Twenty-Two

  “LILLY, WAKE UP,” THE strident voice in her ear repeated. “Come on, you lazy Cajun, wake up. We’re in deep doo-doo,” he tried again. Then Clint remembered how Sarge had always succeeded in getting her off the mat. “You can get up anytime you’re ready, Lil,” he said gently. “Just rest as long as you need.”

  “Hey, no fair, asshole,” Lilly rebuked him mentally as she groaned aloud. Her head was throbbing and she didn’t care if whoever had hit her knew she was awake. “You’re not allowed to use Sarge’s voice to prod me.”

  “Actually, I just used a memory,” Clint replied.

  “Well then, no using memories either,” she grumbled. “Where are we and why is it so dark?”

  “We’re in the trunk of a car and there’s a bag over your head,” Clint replied. “And you’re not even ugly. The car isn’t parked outside. I can tell from my internal clock you were unconscious less than half an hour.”

  “How do you know we’re in a car?” Lilly queried, ignoring the bag quip.

  “Surprisingly, I never lost consciousness. Plus, there’s a jack handle poking you in the ribs,” Clint explained, shifting uncomfortably.

  Reaching for the hood, she realized she was also gagged and there was tape around her wrists and ankles. Fighting the urge to thrash about, she instead asked her body partner for input. “What do you know about what happened and where we are?”

  “I felt whoever it was that hit you because they grabbed you to keep you from falling. I know about what kind of vehicle we’re in because I’ve been listening to the road and vehicle noises. I know about where we are because I was listening to traffic sounds while we were being transported.” And he allowed all his recent memories to flood her consciousness.

  “I don’t know the one who helped load us in the trunk but there’s something oddly familiar about the one who seems to be in charge,” she commented. “I heard the jackhammer on fifth and the busses running at the bus station, so we’re somewhere downtown.”

  “Exactly,” Clint replied. “And if you noted the bell chiming nine...”

  “City Hall,” Lilly cut him off. “And from the volume, I’d say we’re in the underground parking garage.”

  “My deduction precisely,” Clint enthused. When they were finished mentally high-fiving each other they sobered. “Now, how do we get out of this mess?” Lilly wondered.

  “The jack handle probably has a pointed end we can use to cut the tape if we can just...there,” Clint said, grunting. He had rolled them onto their left side so he could better feel the length of the tool he sought. It was secured in a spring clamp but it was their good fortune the fiberboard cover usually placed over the spare tire well was missing.

  “There’s the point,” he said as he began tearing at the tape. Moments later her hands were free, and she pull the blindfold and gag off. The dim glow through the taillight assemblies provided little illumination but it was enough to free her feet. Widening her eyes, Lilly sought to allow as much light onto her retinas as possible.

  “Does that really work?” Clint mused.

  “Well, does it?” Lilly replied when the radio rack and framework behind the rear seatback became visible under the rear window deck. “We’re in a patrol car.”

  “Not getting out that way,” Clint said dejectedly.

  “Did you forget how small I am?” Lilly chided. Turning sideways and bracing her back against the rear of the trunk, she placed both feet into an opening in the frame. They just fit and she pushed, increasing the pressure gradually so she didn’t gouge her legs against the frame when the seatback dislodged.

  “It’s moving,” Clint enthused.

  “Yes,” Lilly exclaimed when the clips holding the seatback in place sprang open. The seat frame moved away and dim light streamed in around the opening. Squirming around 180 degrees, Lilly pushed her arm through the hole and wormed her head and shoulders free. Soon, she was sitting in the back seat.

  “Before we make a break for it, maybe we should put the seat back and find a hiding place to see what their intention is,” Clint recommended. He had sensed Lilly only wanted to bolt out the door and run.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” she breathed, forcing her flight reflex to relax. “I don’t see anybody around, so now’s good.” Reaching for the door handle, she made the harsh realized it wasn’t there.

  “We’re in a police car,” Clint emphasized, groaning. The expanded metal grill attached to the top of the front seat was now plainly visible and they realized they had only succeeded in enlarging their prison. Pondering the dilemma, Clint was the first to react. “We can use the jack to pry open the trunk lid.”

  “Say what?” Lilly asked, as the memory from a PBS special report sprang into her consciousness. “Oh, I see. And when did you watch that?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Hey, I wasn’t always stuck in your head, you know,” he replied easily.

  “So, you
feel like you’re stuck with me?” Lilly complained good-naturedly.

  “I wouldn’t be stuck anywhere else,” Clint replied kindly.

  “Let’s see if we can get the jack out of the bracket and get out of here before someone comes back,” she suggested.

  Pulling the seatback completely off, she moved it aside and wormed back through the frame head-first. The jack was just under the handle they had recently used. In moments she had the scissor device wedged between the spare tire and the trunk lock mechanism. Being able to move the handle only a half-turn at a time took longer than either of them wanted. Clint was uncharacteristically quiet as he listened for footsteps or other signs of their being discovered.

  Lilly worked the handle feverishly and both were so focused it startled them when the trunk latch gave way and the lid popped open. Scrambling around in the trunk, she hurriedly returned the seatback to a semblance of where it had originally been. Climbing out, she looked around but saw no one. She closed the trunk and gently tried to push the latch in place. It pressed against the mechanism but refused to catch.

  “The latch is jammed,” Clint declared and spent several anguished minutes working on resetting the latch bar with the tip of the jack handle. While he struggled with the trunk latch, Lilly struggled with her desire to bolt. “Now,” he finally crowed in her head, pressing the trunk gently into place with a soft click. The musty garage smelled like most of Louisiana; fecund. The ever-present vehicle fumes in the poorly-ventilated garage caused her eyes to water slightly.

  She had just moved off behind a delivery van several spaces away when Clint heard footsteps. They looked through the passenger-side window and windshield from the opposite side of the van. A man dressed like one of the mercenaries from the warehouse came into view. Beside and slightly ahead of him strode a tall, slender man with very dark skin. He was well-dressed, wearing a black trench coat and fedora. Something in his gait or the set of his shoulders set alarms off in Lilly’s mind. The pair paused near the rear of the patrol car.