A short fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Note: First, thanks to all of you who've read both of my earlier Without a Trace pieces, Nothing Gold Can Stay from last year and more recently, In Extremis: Epilogue. I truly appreciate your kind and generous support, it really does make a difference hearing from you, it helps me write better.
A big huge Debt of gratitude to my friend and advise giver and most excellent editor, Christy. Thanks Pard, without you, this story wouldn't be here.
Warning, this story might be long, (those of you who've read my Magnificent Seven Fic's know how hard it is for me to write short stories. Stop laughing Laramee, I can hear you!)
Without Further interruption, let the tale begin.
The others had gone long ago, but she remained in place. She blessed herself and kissed the cross before putting the rosary beads into her pocket. She moved her hand over the tombstone, still unable to come to terms with his passing. A man who'd given her everything and she wondered had she ever repaid him?
"I'll miss you Father Dom," she whispered.
His death had been sudden, a massive heart attack while he was watching his beloved New York Yankees. She'd found him in the soft, worn leather chair he loved so much. The last few days had been a blur, a flurry of making arrangements. But in the quiet of the night, she lay awake alone in her apartment, she felt the calling. The echo of the words promised on a crisp November day so many years ago came back to her. Warmth filled her and she wasn't cold anymore. She knew now what she must do. A voice called to her.
"Theresa, you've been here all day, you need to rest."
She looked up at the kind woman who'd become her best friend. The nun who wore two 'hats'; a skilled nurse who ran the clinic that Father Dom had founded for the poor and a woman of God as well. They'd met shortly after she came to this place and had been friends these last eighteen years. Those kind dark eyes had filled her with warmth then and ever since.
"I know, I know," Theresa confessed, her dark eyes going to the cold stone slab. "I can't seem to... he's really gone."
"Yes, dear, he is." The older woman helped the shaken one to her feet.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," Theresa said as they walked towards the car.
"I know, you've been troubled. You haven't been sleeping at night. I've seen the light on in the chapel."
"I'd like to come to Costa Rica with you; I want to serve the Lord."
"Theresa, are you sure? Your son... your life is here. I was born in those mountains and vowed to return home when my mission here was done. The people there are very poor, many without medical aid."
"I know... I know..." Theresa replied. "I made a promise to Our Lady when I arrived here. I was lost, no family and no future. I had nowhere to turn and a baby coming. She filled me with such grace that day. I felt her, I truly felt her touch. I promised that when Nicky was grown and on his own, I'd give her my life. Don't you see? This is her answer. This is my time to finally do the one thing I have always wanted. I know God has called me to serve Him. Please don't deny me my heart's true mission."
The nun saw a light shining from her friend's dark eyes and smiled. She took the younger woman's hand and nodded her head.
"Alright, if you're sure. It won't be for several more weeks but... perhaps you're right. The Lord does work in mysterious ways. Does Nick know?"
Theresa paused several yards from the car and smiled. The driver emerged and her heart soared. "He's very handsome, isn't he?"
"You should be proud, Theresa, he's a fine young man." The nun turned and saw the younger woman's eyes shining. "Won't you miss him?"
"I love him, cherish him and I'll visit him. But he has his own life now. Father Dom is gone, my time here is done. I've never been so sure of anything; I feel such joy in my heart."
"Hey Mom... Hey Sister, how are you?" Nick DiSipio greeted his mother and the nun who he'd known all his life.
"Fine, Nick, you look well."
"I'm great. Hey Mom, the coach thinks I got a good arm, the The handsome athlete gushed, his face flush with excitement. "Matt Grover graduates next June. That means this time next year, I'm the starting quarterback!"
"That's wonderful, honey." Theresa hugged her son and wondered where the years had gone. Where was that chubby baby who'd she sang to and rocked? At eighteen, he'd grown into the fine young man she'd known he was destined to become. Several inches over six feet tall and with a body that bespoke his many years of athletics, he was every coach's dream. He was on his own now, her job was done. She recalled the vow she'd made to the Blessed Mother that first day she'd arrived here, just a few weeks before he was born. She took his arm and turned back.
"Sister, will you meet us back at the rectory? I'd like to walk to the beach and talk to my son."
"I understand." She took Theresa's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'll start supper."
"What's wrong?" Nick asked as they began to walk away.
"Nothing, Nick." She smiled. "Everything couldn't be more right. You know how I always told you that God called me to serve with Him when I was young?"
"Yeah..."
She turned and took his hands and stared up at him. "I'm so proud of you. I don't think anyone could love a son more. You're the finest thing in my life, Nick."
"But..." he hedged.
"You remember Father Paulo visiting last winter?"
"Yeah, neat guy. He's really something, helping all those people with rebels chasing him. He's a real hero."
"He's asked Sister to come home to Costa Ricato run a clinic there." She rested her hand on his cheek and then the tears fell. "I'm going with her."
"Going... leaving? Costa Rica?" Nick backed up. "You're leaving me? Here? You can't..."
"Honey, you're in college now, two thousand miles away. I only see you a couple times a year. Once you graduate you'll go on to your own life. Now that Father Dom is gone, I have nothing. I made a vow... a promise to the Blessed Mother before you were born. I told you that story many times."
"Yes..." he whispered, swallowing hard.
"Please be happy for me, Nick. I know it's a shock but it's what I've always dreamed of. You have so many friends and you have Pete." She almost choked on his name but she wouldn't let the bitterness show. He may have been the devil incarnate to her, but he worshiped his son. He'd been good to Nick over these years. They were very close and he spent weekends and vacations with the Gibsons.
"Yeah," he managed, swallowing his disappointment. She was leaving him, just like Pete said she would. He'd warned him about how her eyes glazed over whenever she saw a cross or church. That she clearly was devoted to her God and spent most of her free time in church. He heard the older man's words that he'd never desert him. He felt that strong hand on his shoulder. Pete has always been there for every game, practice and awards presentations at school. They went camping, hiking, fishing and he was the father Nick always dreamed of. It was time to show his loyalty, to the person who did truly care about him and wasn't running out on him. He'd do everything he could to make Pete Gibson proud of him.
"Fine... I'm happy for you, Mom."
She narrowed her eyes then and shuddered, almost recoiling. For the first time in eighteen years, she saw his father in him. There was a coldness in his eyes and tone that had never surfaced before. She tried to hold onto him but he turned away. She heard the bells ringing for six o'clock mass and the echo remained in her head as they walked to the car. She wouldn't deny the Lord; it was all she longed for. He was ready to fly on his own now. He'd be fine. She tried to convince herself as she gazed at the stern profile driving.
It almost worked.
Martin grunted as the boot or knee of his very large predator caught him hard, taking his breath away. The impact sent Sam's light flying. He heard another voice screaming at him and rose to his knees. He saw Eric waving at him from the other side of the floor. Voices from below sounded and the beam of a flashlight hit his eyes. Then he was yanked back hard by the scruff of the neck. Martin hissed slightly as the hot metal of a blade touched against the side of his neck.
The force of Martin's body hitting her sent the blonde agent into a broken piece of concrete near the shattered railing. She landed hard against the inner wall that ran along the perimeter of the third floor. Her head hit the cement wall and she saw stars over the explosion of pain. Sam felt herself blacking out and tried to regain her senses. Her whole body was numb and the gun was lying a few feet away. She stared at it dumbfounded, her groggy brain trying to figure out how to make her arm work to retrieve it. A blurry but familiar body hit body hit the ground near her and her mind flashed a name.
"Mar...tin..."
He looked up at her briefly and her eyes widened in shock when what appeared to be a giant loomed in the shadows near him. Her mind flashed one word - gun! Sam tried to move to get it but the pain splitting down her head just wouldn't allow it. She heard voices that seemed very far away calling for her. Through the fog she heard Eric's voice rising up. Had he found Danny? Was Danny safe? The injured blonde blinked the stars dancing in front of her eyes away and quelled the nausea rising up.
Gun
Her hand wanted to move and she forced her body to work. Sam fell sideways, fingers brushing the gun and missing. Martin was crawling towards her and she prayed he saw the gun. She tried to tell him, but only slurred moans came out of her mouth. Then the giant's hand yanked Martin backwards and she saw a knife flash. No. Not like this right in front of her. But the knife didn't move, only the monster's snarled lips, which were pressed to Martin's ear. She saw those lips move and repeated the single word she'd heard spoken in her mind.
"Scorpion"
Sam saw the change immediately as all the fight left her stricken partner. He curled up, began to shake all over and his eyes widened in fear. She tried to move towards him and slipped again, then felt the crumbling floor beneath her giveaway. A distant image of that gaping hole that initially separated her from Danny loomed. Her last fleeting thought before she fell was that she was going to die.
Martin heard metal crashing and saw Sam's inert body disappear through a broken railing. His heart nearly stopped when he realized his action had caused that. He was consumed with fear and the pain in his chest was so great it felt like a heart attack. He felt the gun in his fingers but couldn't seem to lift it. He curled up, shaking his head over and over. In a stupor, he stared at the gun in his palm and heard the loud roar of drums in his ears. The words kept in time giving it a sadistic beat.
...failure... coward... yellow... fear... worm... they know... coward... failure... yellow... you're nothing... nothing... coward..."
Eric Keller couldn't believe his eyes. First, a huge masked man dressed in black appeared out of nowhere. Then that idiot Fitzgerald shows up, just when he was about to shoot the guy. Because Martin jumped the unknown assailant, he couldn't get a clear shot. Then right before his horrified eyes, he saw Samantha fall through a gaping hole down to the first floor. His anger boiled over and his eyes widened in shock when the brute stood right before Fitzgerald, who'd collapsed like a terrified rat. The concrete jagged wall now blocked his own shot, but Fitzgerald had a clear one. The guy was right in front of him!
"SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, HE'S RIGHT NEXT TO YOU. JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST, MARTIN SHOOT HIM!"
"Go... go... go..."
Sergeant Dan Murphy had seen most of what transpired from where he and his partner arrived on the main floor. He too saw the man attack two agents above and the railing break. His partner ran to the fallen women, his own light and eyes were trained above. One man who he recognized from the news as Martin Fitzgerald, an F.B.I agent was curled up against the wall, his hands over his head. To the naked eye he appeared to be paralyzed in fear. Murphy saw the gun shaking so badly in the fallen agent's hand he hoped it didn't go off and wound the man. Then he saw the larger man, the felon who'd attacked Fitzgerald disappear into the darkness. The cop pulled his weapon upwards and heard the NYPD detective from above screaming at the rookie.
Eric was frantically waving at Martin from far across the floor. The large cavity that was the entire central mass of the building seemed like the Grand Canyon. He froze momentarily, realizing the choice. To continue to Danny Taylor, backtrack to where Fitzgerald was in trouble or go down to where Sam fell. Was she alive?
"What the hell's going on? Somebody talk to me!" Chris Boone thundered as he rushed inside the building.
"Up there on three," Murphy ran to the stairs. "Somebody jumped Fitzgerald and the blonde agent. She fell and he... just... froze. The perp walked right in front of him and he never fired. Didn't lift his gun. Fuckin' green rookie was shakin' like a virgin on her wedding night."
"Who's the perp? Where is he?" Boone demanded.
"He's huge, I saw him standing over that fuckin' yellow dog, " Keller spat, coming up behind Boone.
"Where's Taylor? Did you find him?" the SAC asked as they reached a now stilled Martin Fitzgerald. He squatted down and tapped the slack jaw of the fallen agent. Pale brows furrowed and then the damp brown head rose over clouded blue eyes that began to blink rapidly. He didn't know if Martin was suffering from a head injury or the confusion he now saw had been a panic attack. But it didn't matter. He wouldn't let the NYPD get their hooks in him and turned as Eric Keller approached.
"No, I was over there, " Eric flashed his light across the large cavity, "on my way to Taylor. I heard him scream her name and turned back. I watched the whole thing. That fuckin' idiot has a yellow streak right down the middle of his back!"
"Enough!" Boone stepped in front of Fitzgerald to block Keller and he hit his radio. "Murphy? Anything?"
"Not yet," the cop replied, still following the trail to where he thought the large man went.
"How's Spade?" Boone yelled down over the broken rail
"Alive, I called it in. Her breathin's funny though..." Murphy's partner shouted up.
"No," Boone grabbed Keller's arm when he went to turn. "I'm not done with you yet, detective. Where's Taylor? Is he alive?"
"He's right there!" Keller snapped back. He flashed his light to where they'd both seen the missing man. The area on the other side of the large hole in the floor was now empty.
"Aw, shit... he was right there lyin' on his side, all covered in blood.'
"Then I suggest you get your ass back there now!" The sandy haired SAC ordered, green eyes flashing. He had a few inches and twenty pounds of muscle to his advantage and used it now in a menacing stance. "And Keller, you better find Danny Taylor."
"If she dies, I'll break your pretty face so bad..." Keller warned in a cold whisper only for the shaken Fitzgerald to hear.
Keller quickly retraced his steps around the large perimeter. He kept one eye on the floor and the other on the action below. Boone was kneeling down beside Sam and talking into his radio. The anxious lawman got to the area where they'd seen Danny Taylor and froze. He flashed his light over every inch of the very narrow path and frowned. There was no sign of the missing man. Where had he gone? Had he heard the commotion and gotten confused? Did he crawl away into one of the empty rooms nearby?
"DANNY! DANNY TAYLOR! IT'S ME, MAN, KELLER. WHERE ARE YOU?"
He quickly searched the only rooms that were close enough for an injured man to crawl to. They were empty. He retraced his steps to the exact spot where he'd seen the body. He paused when he heard the medics talking loudly below; their voices carrying in the cavernous area. He flinched as the paramedics worked on Sam. She seemed so small with the neck brace and backboard. His rage against Martin Fitzgerald went up a notch. He made a fist and vowed to have a 'talk' with the cocky rookie.
"Keller?"
"Yeah?" he called back and turned in time for Boone to appear. "Shit," he hissed, seeing the cool fire in the light green eyes. Next to Jack Malone, there was no fed feared more than Chris Boone.
"Where is he?"
Boone didn't hide his anger. Keller was a good detective and had many tough collars to his credit. But he was also a bit of a cowboy and a hothead. He had no doubt that the previous and possibly ongoing relationship with Spade had caused the NYPD man to lose focus. Also it was clear he had hard feelings against Martin Fitzgerald.
"I asked you a question," he repeated when the younger man turned away.
"I dunno," Eric managed, squatting down and flashing the light. "Blood... something that might be skin... hair... fabric..." He eyed the bits and pieces and sighed hard, trying to think of a reply. "Look," he tried to explain and stood back up, carefully stepping clear of the evidence. "I don't know where he is. That's where we saw him, right there. Maybe this guy wasn't alone. Maybe they were holdin' Taylorhere and he got loose, got that call out. They tracked him and found him... I don't know!" He waited but the only delete thing reply he got was severe frost in the sea green eyes. "Alright, I fucked up, is that what you want me to say!" Keller vented and then backed up as the tall, lean SAC forced him into the wall.
"I want some fuckin' answers!" Boone hissed. "If your head hadn't been in your pants when this went down, it's possible Danny Taylor wouldn't be missing and Samantha wouldn't be ridin' a gurney on her way to the ER!"
"Hey, don't pin that on me, Fitzgerald did that. He had the guy...dead to rights, eyes glazed over, like some Goddamn deer in the crosshair..."
"You had a missing federal agent in your sight and your job was to get to him. You weren't close enough to the altercation between the perp and Martin and Sam to make a difference. Because you fucked up and left Taylor, we lost him and the perp." He was seething now and it wasn't the first time he'd crossed paths with the cocky cop. "You secure this area?"
"Yeah, I checked all these rooms, he's not there. He's gone."
"Okay, what did this body look like? How were you sure it was Danny? What about the guy who attacked Sam and Martin?" Boone inquired.
"Look, I don't have time for this. I'm going to the hospital and..." His thought was cut off when the tall F.B.I. man moved closer, forcing him to backtrack. The voice was cold and hard and barely issued through tense lips.
"You're gonna stay here and secure the scene. You're going to wait until the lab arrives and goes over every bit of this dump and bags up rat shit if it might have a clue. Then you're going to write this up and you better not fuck that up. Then you're going to hand deliver that report to me. There are a lot of apartments that back up to this building, somebody might have seen this guy coming in or leaving. Maybe Danny got out and somebody found him. Either way, it's going to be long night for you, Detective Keller."
"Why are you chewin' my balls? How come you're not writin' up that excuse for an a fibbie? He's a disgrace. Oh, I'll write you a report alright! And even his fuckin' old man won't stop justice this time. He'll be slingin' burgers at Mickey D's by the time I get done with him..."
"Don't fuck with me," Boone warned, jabbing Keller's chest. "...boy."
While the F.B.I and local men in blue swarmed over the abandoned building, the man they sought was already on the interstate heading back to Atlantic City. Unlike his fumbling colleagues, Gibson knew that old building well. So while they were screaming at each other and confused in the darkening interior, he'd slipped through a side passage, collected 'Danny' and exited using an old coal chute He'd timed this run several times and used the building specifically. The cellar where the chute exited had a subterranean sewer where the drainage pipes ran off. He took that underground passage to his van and hit the interstate.
But the plan failed.
His fingers gripped the wheel in a death lock and his rage simmered inside. Instead of a struggling blonde agent in his grasp, he had nothing. He'd not counted on Eric Keller showing up. The computer driven phone call was easy. Modern technology is a wonderful thing and his set up was first class. He used tapes of Danny's voice to create a program of words. From that, he could have the prisoner Taylor 'talk' to anyone. The call went fine and he timed it so that by the time Spade called in and the other cops arrived, he'd have used the stun gun on her. After securing her in the Tower, he would have come back for Martin. But he didn't count on her boyfriend showing up. He killed the beer he was drinking and tossed the can out the window. With every passing mile and another pint of beer, his anger rose. He didn't like defeat and now the acrid odor of it reeked.
He didn't like losing control.
His eyes hit the artificial passenger sprawled in the back, the top of the very realistic dark hair and forehead catching his eye. He'd spared no expense on the mannequin. Even touching it made him jumpy, the flesh was so pliable. The model for the bait then rose up in his mind's eye. The snarling, wise-talking Agent Taylor who despite his best efforts, he couldn't seem to break.
A cruel smile twisted onto his face.
"Smart-mouthed bastard's goin' to hell anyway," he decided, flexing his fists. "What's a few broken bones and cuts? Gym's closed..." he rationalized of his usual method of unwinding, by sparring in the boxing ring.
"Martin?"
The shaken agent was still sitting on the floor by the hole where he saw Sam fall through. He couldn't move; a part of him was afraid to. Somehow he reasoned if didn't leave this spot, he wouldn't have to face the cold harsh reality of the outside. That place where they took Samantha. It was bad, he knew that. He'd watched through this very hole as the frantic paramedics worked on her below. He reached out as the image of her pale face disappeared.
"...Sam..."
"Martin?" Boone repeated, squatting down and touching the trembling man's shoulder. The shaken agent jumped back and nearly went through the same hole.
"WHOA!" Boone grabbed the leather jacket collar and hauled Fitzgerald upright. "Come on, this area isn't stable. You with me?" He ducked and weaved, trying to find the lost blue eyes. "There's another bus outside, I want you to go to the hospital and get checked out. You were out of it when I got here. Did you fall? Hit your head?"
"Huh?" Martin blinked, then looked up startled. "Chris?"
"Yeah," Boone frowned. "Did that guy hit you? Did you fall?"
"I uh... I..." Martin furrowed his brows and rubbed his neck. What did he remember? "...shots... I was outside. Sam said... to wait. She and Keller... I heard shots..."
"Okay, you were outside, heard shots and came inside?"
"Yeah, I followed... the back door... where he went."
"Who?" The older agent inquired.
"The uh... uh... guy... all in black... no face... gun..."
"You saw the perp come in the back and followed. Then you heard the shots?"
"Yeah... up here... I saw him... he was uh...." he motioned with his hand, seeing that glint of metal again. "...behind her... his hand had... silver... a knife maybe... she didn't see him. She was looking at Danny."
"Did you see Danny, Martin?"
"Yeah, right there." Martin pointed to the spot across the way. He saw the lab crew setting up and scurrying about collecting evidence. Then he realized he'd forgotten about Danny. "Oh God... Danny..." He started to move that way and was hauled back.
"No... Martin's he's not there. I got men on that. So Sam was facing the other way looking at Danny and this man..."
"...big... huge... came out of the shadows and he raised his hand..."
"He was going to stab her?"
"I don't know, maybe..." Martin replied and winced before the irate SAC's words came back at him loud and biting.
"That's not good enough, Martin. Think! You're the only who saw this guy. He could have Taylor..."
"Don't you think I know that?" The dishevelled agent shot back, raking a shaky hand through his damp hair. "You think my guts not torn to shit over this?"
"Come on, Martin, think. You shouted a warning at Spade. You had to see something..." Boone pressed in a hard, harsh tone and watched the last of Fitzgerald's resolve die.
"I... didn't... I don't... I can't..."
Chris Boone rested one hand on each lean hip and huffed in annoyance. He knew before the embarrassed agent turned away. He heard the unspoken words as if Fitzgerald had screamed it aloud. He didn't want to admit it, he liked Fitzgerald. He knew Jack Malone recruited heavily before finding the right fit. Martin came highly qualified and a part of him was envious that Jack Malone scored an ace for his team. But maybe the rookie's luster hid something nobody could have anticipated. All the broken records and high scores at Quantico and the awards the prior desk jockey from Seattle bore didn't equal street experience. Maybe Martin Fitzgerald cracked under pressure; something the simulations couldn't figure into their scoring.
"Remember?" Boone supplied quietly of the silent albatross hanging over the angst-ridden man's head. The damp head bobbed slightly and the emotive blue eyes were pooled with fear. He thought for a moment and wanted any other possibility ruled out. That meant a trip to the ER, so it was on paper that there was no physical cause for the collapse.
"I'm sorry, Chris, I don't know what else..." Martin sagged sideways, his hand on the wall. He pushed his face against the cold stones and an irate face rose up to haunt him. "Jesus, Jack's gonna kill me."
"No, he won't," Chris laid a hand on the shaken man's back. "I want you to take another look around, Martin. Think hard. Do you remember where he went? Did you see his face? Anything that we can use to..."
"No..." Martin sighed hard. "Nothing... just screaming her name and... watching her fall... I did that, Chris. My God what did I do? I killed my partner."
"No, you didn't. She's not dead. Come on, I'll take you over to the hospital. You're gonna get checked out. If they rule out any kind of drugs or physical injuries, we're going to have to have you evaluated."
Martin nodded mutely the word 'evaluated' bouncing around in his throbbing head and reforming. The quirky letters spelled 'end of career'. That's what the evaluation would show, that he was unfit for duty. He didn't say a word during the ride over, nor did Boone expect him to. The nurse in the ER only said that Sam was in surgery and listed as critical. Internal injuries had forced them to move quickly.
Chris thanked the nurse who promised the evening supervisor would update him as soon as possible. He left Martin in a cubicle and relayed the information to the attending ER resident who would be examining the dazed rookie. Then he went outside to call Jack Malone.
"Sometimes this job sucks," he muttered, raking a hand through his fair hair and punching in the number.
"What the hell?"
Danny croaked and coughed, sitting up on his bunk in a dark room. For a few fleeting seconds, he didn't know where he was, then reality slapped him hard. He wondered about the darkness there was usually a light on. He blinked at the large television monitor that sprang too to life with the loud volume nearly deafening him. It was an old movie of some kind with soldiers firing guns and missiles going off. Wincing, he blinked until the fuzz left his skull. He rubbed the weariness from his eyes and moved a hand over his growling stomach. Breakfast? Dinner? He shrugged and padded to the bathroom. He snatched a cookie on the way over. He was just finishing relieving his full bladder, when the words from the television changed.
"...we interrupt our regular programming to bring you this breaking news. An F.B.I agent has been badly injured in an abandoned brewery..."
"Shit."
Danny flushed and ran back into the other room, swallowing the cookie so hard he hurt his throat. He reached for the bottle of water on the counter and took a swig, trying to chase the dryness that settled inside. His dark eyes darted fearfully as images of an old building rose up. In the background, behind the reporter were the flashing lights of emergency and police vehicles. He saw Chris Boone first, putting a hand up to protect someone from the reporters. Then he caught a flash of flesh before the man with Boone disappeared into a car.
"Martin? What's wrong?"
"Is there any word on the condition of the injured agent? Or what happened inside that building?"
Danny blinked and waited for the reporter on the scene to answer the anchorperson back in the newsroom.
"No word on the condition of Agent Samantha Spade..."
"SAM!" Danny choked, rocking back on his heels.
The questions were coming through his mind fast and furious. What were Sam and Martin doing in that building? Was it tied to the missing nun? Sam wasn't on that case, she was investigating the missing Harrisongirl. Was that it? Why was Chris Boone with Martin? Where was Jack? He tried to quiet down his inner drive to hear what the reporter was saying.
"...details are sketchy, but it doesn't look good for the future of F.B.I. agent Martin Fitzgerald, not carrying a badge anyhow. This appears to be the second incident of questionable behavior that has lead to tragic results. As you recall, Fitzgerald was the only one with missing Agent Daniel Taylor over a week ago when he disappeared. Now a similar scenario has unfolded and the life of the young female agent lies in the balance..."
"What were they doing there, Mike? I thought that Fitzgerald was on suspension?" The anchor person asked.
"He was. From what I'm hearing," the reporter paused to nod to the cops lingering in the background. "They were nearby and got a tip of some kind that Danny Taylor was inside this building. There was a man inside, possibly connected to Taylor's disappearance. It seems Fitzgerald was with Spade and this man when the female agent was either pushed or fell from somewhere above to the main floor. Her partner confronted this man but he got away clean... again."
"What the hell did you do now you bastard?" Danny hollered at the walls, not knowing if Gibson was listening or not.
"Sorry about missing dinner, I do so enjoy our chats." Gibson stepped into the room. "I was busy with your two pretty friends. We were playing in an old brewery, a very dangerous place so many holes in the floor. Your buddy fucked up again, the last thought he'll have is of her face as she fell to her death. Poor Martin... now he'll have her blood on his hands too. Pity he'll never know the truth. I wonder if I should have let him eat his gun or use a rope?" He heard the odd, strangulated cry in the dark from across the room and smiled. He stepped closer and saw the handsome agent's face twisted in naked rage. The dark eyes were burning with pure loathing and helpless frustration; aperfect mix. "Have you met your replacement?" He pushed a button on the remote in his hand and the television image changed. The other 'Danny' appeared in spot where he'd been place to lure the unsuspecting agents into the web. The audio replayed the conversation between the anxious Spade and Fitzgerald with the artificial Taylor. He smiled then, seeing Danny's face reflect the fury that was boiling inside of him. He had his own need to fill and put the remote down. He flexed his fists and his grin widened, his muscles already anticipating the release of all that tension on the handsome young man's torso. "Come on Danny boy, I'm right here. You ready to back up that loud mouth of yours?"
The chilling voice coupled with the horrid images and the news story served to ignite the flame. It caused the rush of boiling lava inside of Danny Taylor to crest. It rose up and scalded his common sense and logic. Danny didn't listen to the small voice inside that usually corralled his temper. He didn't call upon all his years of experience in dealing with psychos like Gibson. The caged rat had been locked inside the box too long and every fiber inside him went into overload, like the a bull in the a ring, he saw only red. It split through his skull and seared his brain, mixing with the burning lava. He unleashed an unearthly growl and through the red haze saw the arrogant face of the large bald man. All the weeks of torture this animal had put Martin through; taking him prisoner, making his friends suffer and now he'd possibly killed Samantha Spade.
"Well come on, boy," Gibson leered, grabbing his crotch. "You said you wanted to tear my balls off. Here's your chance."
"YOU SICK SON-OF-A-BITCH!" Danny screamed, shoving caution to the side and hurling himself at his adversary.
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