Parkers Island Ch. 03

"Please, Shelby, I can be more use out there than in here."

The deep breath and slow release forewarned Tessa.

"There is a reason you're called an asset, Tessa, just as there is a reason that those around you are duty bound to protect you."

Tessa listened even harder, the silence from outside both reassuring and yet a feeling of calm before a storm. She had great difficulty bringing her attention back to the screen.

"You have a job to do now, Tessa. You have two inbounds flying blind. Get them on the ground."

Tessa shook her head, "No. No-one should die just to keep me alive. That's insane!"

"I remember talking to a Marine Corporal once, Tessa. I told her that, if she accepted the job, her life was expendable over the person she was protecting. I even gave her the chance to leave without a blemish on her record. She chose to stay because she knew the job Aiden was doing would save lives, even if it meant at the expense of her own."

The anger rose quickly in Tessa, her chair falling backwards as she stood up.

"Don't you DARE talk about my sister like that!"

All Shelby did was sit and watch her young asset as she wrestled with the truth. Some understood early enough, others took some time and sadly, the damage had already been done by the time they realized. There is a reason they are called assets, not just a person of value: the contribution they bring, be it in a war zone or breaking a code, is that they do, in fact, save lives. It's up to people like Shelby to fully understand the cost in human life it truly takes to keep an asset safe.

"Very well, Tessa, let me give you other names: Amelia, Madison and Lauren. Three people who at this moment are facing odds far greater than they should so that you and Aiden can stay alive."

The tears welled up, Tessa losing focus on the screen. She had to look away. Picking up the fallen chair gave her only a moment's respite.

"But I don't want them to die, Shelby."

"Then help them! Do what needs to be done from here. At the moment you have two helicopters traveling blind towards you. Get them on the ground, Tessa."

The pause was only momentary; she nodded her head and began typing. She looked up at the camera and Shelby stared back at her, the smile a small ray of comfort for Tessa. Within moments, the screen divided.

"I can't speak to the crew, so who's in charge on the ground?"

The smile grew and Shelby typed as well. Less than a minute later the face of a man looked back at Tessa.

"This is Special Agent Donaldson; he's in charge of the Hostage Rescue Team in those helicopters."

The agent nodded first to Shelby and then to Tessa, who went back to typing for another minute. She looked up long enough to ask the agent the ETA of both helicopters: she winced when he told her, and her typing became frantic. After one final burst of speed, Tessa finally looked at the agent.

"I've switched on the lights at the ferry dock. Tell the pilots that they have to use the lights along the slip as approach lights. They have to line up their craft to match the lights and land in the car park. To leave, they must go vertical to a height of no less than one hundred and ten feet and right turn until they see a single light in the distance."

The agent made notes as Shelby listened intently.

"Head toward that single light - it's the warning beacon over Winchom Shallows. Once they pass that, turn right again by fifteen degrees and that will get them back to the mainland. They will pick up the Mayburn VORTAC beacon within ten seconds of passing the shallows."

For a moment the Special Agent saw only a young woman and made that mistake.

"Young lady, all my men need is a safe place to land; the pilots can find their own way home."

Even Shelby wasn't expecting what came next.

"Mr. Donaldson, you're clearly not listening. I'm bringing your people as close as I can to a firefight, and keeping them safe enough to get out of their respective helicopters. That means you do as I tell you. If either pilot deviates from the course out of this island in any way I will not be held responsible for their deaths."

Something in her tone made the agent hold back from challenging her any further. For Tessa, her warning was out there, and to her that was enough. She then went into detail, describing everyone on the ground and what they were wearing, challenging her own memory at every turn. A smile slowly grew on the agent's face as he once again set about writing things down. When Tessa was done he said simply "Ma'am" and nodded, and his side of the screen went blank.

Shelby's face took up the entire screen. "You did well."

"I am my mother's daughter. Being born on this island means I know so much about it. I could do a lot more if I wasn't locked in this box."

"You're about to get an HRT safely on the ground, and you've given them advanced intel. I would say that's a good start. I should have given you this earlier but I always thought your first time would be at my choosing, not a fatwa. It's a line from John Milton, which goes 'They also serve who only stand and wait.' Look up the rest of it while we both wait."

The screen went blank once again.

*******

The gunfire started barely three minutes later. I kept the front door open and, although standing away, I watched through the window, seeing nothing and fearing the worst.

The helicopters could be heard over the sound of gunfire from across the road. They would land in the car park by the ferry dock; it was the only place close enough and big enough although, with space for only one at a time, it would still take valuable seconds to get them all on the ground.

"I have to meet the Rescue Team, Henry. They need to know what's going on in double quick time."

"I thought you might. One of the boys will shadow you, but will keep out of the way. No sense in spooking those coming to help, is there?"

Other than giving Henry the un-lock code to my office, we didn't need to say anything else. If letting the girls do what they had to was hard enough, leaving Tessa was just as hard. The worst part was leaving my gun in the house. I had made it a hundred yards from my home before I noticed the black figures stepping cautiously on either side of the road. Two red dots instantly appeared on my chest, and I placed my hands behind my head and walked under a tree before I knelt down by the side of the road.

The white FBI stood proud against the black body armor they all wore. One of the team edged forward while two others took up better killing positions either side of me. I quickly told them my name. The man in front pulled his face cover away and knelt in front of me.

"You're the spook?"

Oh, how I hate that word. I kept my voice neutral; well, as neutral as you can when your wife is in the middle of a firefight. I described all three women, telling them that all wore Kevlar and that my wife had her badge hanging from a cord around her neck. Since the summer house was built to the same spec as mine, I described how many rooms were on the ground floor and how many upstairs, as well as how to access the attic.

The man in front of me didn't take any notes but, then again, men like these seldom needed to. He asked a few more questions, and all came with a mental curse from me that I didn't think to add the answers beforehand. He offered to send one of his team to accompany me back to my house, but I refused and I'm glad I did. The team went into a huddle under the tree as I walked back to my house.

Henry was leaning against the rail of the porch, a handgun clearly visible in a holster on his hip. The pump action shotgun still across his chest meant he wasn't taking any chances either. More gunfire broke out from inside the house across the road.

"You best get in here, Aiden. Martha will be pissed with me if you get yourself killed."

Henry glanced back into the house again, as he seemed to do every ten or so seconds. He chuckled as he said "We all understand why you did what you did with Tessa; sure don't want to be around when you let her out, though."

Two black figures broke from the group on the ground and rushed up the path towards the gunfire. I walked into the house and grabbed my gun again. One of the upstairs windows of the summer house exploded outwards, and the business end of an automatic started laying down fire on the black figures on the ground. All rolled out of harm's way and instantly joined the first two in the assault on the house.

The volume of gunfire increased considerably. It was then a scream came from the house and my blood ran cold. I held my gun a little tighter and moved towards the steps of the porch, but my world went dark as I crumpled to the floor. All I heard before I slipped into unconsciousness was Henry telling me he was sorry, but I wasn't going anywhere.

How can black move? Yet it did. I tried to focus and keep the pain in my head at bay whilst doing it. The face of the F.B.I agent I spoke to in the middle of the road looked back at me.

"We have one wounded. She says her name is Lauren but won't say anything else. She's down at the dock being treated and prepped for transport to a hospital. We found your wife; she's safe, but we have a standoff and we need you to defuse the situation."

Fuck the headache. I instantly got up, regretted it for just a moment when I wobbled a bit on my feet, and followed the FBI guy out the door. Henry still leant against the same post, looking outwards.

"Me and you are going to have words later."

Henry didn't move; I heard a "Yup" as I passed, but that was it. Two of the team stood at the front door. I heard another helicopter land down by the ferry dock but I didn't pay it any real attention. The scene I was focused on as I walked into the day room was my wife pointing her Sig directly at one of the still masked black suited assault team, that same member of the assault team showing a great deal of restraint as he pointed his own weapon at her.

She was covered in blood, her blood-stained hair no longer held back in a pony tail. It was her eyes that worried me: for worried, please read "scared." Fully dilated to the point that I saw no other color than black, patches of blood splattered most parts of her body, and the reason why was being held in Amelia's left hand.

The trail of blood came from the bottom of the stairs; Amelia must have dragged Madison's body all this way. The only thing stopping her progress was the man in the black suit standing in front of her. Two red dots danced across her chest from time to time, but her focus was on the man in front of her. Faint rasping noises came from Amelia's chest as she tried so hard to pull air into her lungs.

"We know who you people are; we were briefed on the way here. But my people don't take kindly to having guns stuck in their faces."

"Make him back away."

"Can't do that. The look in that woman's eyes for one, our training for another. She has to lower her gun first."

"Can I get between them?"

"Only from the right side, but make sure you don't get in front of your wife. If you do then we don't care who you are: my people will cut you in half."

The red dot on the right side went out as I approached my wife. Amelia had hold of Madison's vest by the collar. Kevlar may save lives, but it's just not built to take a full magazine to the chest. One of the rounds must have slipped in somehow, because she was clearly dead and Amelia wouldn't let go.

"Em, please give me your gun."

Her brow creased for a moment and then she violently shook her head. If anything, her grip tightened on her Sig, heightening the tension just a bit more. The urge to pull her to me and hug her really tight was hard to fight, as I felt responsible for all this. If I had not come to this island then Amelia wouldn't be in the position she was in now. My hand came out and stopped a few inches from her blood-spattered vest.

"Please Em, we need to see to Madison. We can't do that while you're having a pissing contest with the guy behind me."

Something I had said must have struck a chord. Her eyes softened, and color fought against the blood on her face to give her a more natural look. Her Sig lowered an inch, then an inch more, before her own momentum brought the gun to her side. She moved her head to look at me, her eyes watered, and then tears rolled down her cheeks.

"She's dead because of me, Aiden. I couldn't save her."

Her hand moved up slightly, sliding her Sig into its holster, and I clung to my wife as her heart broke inside her chest, her left hand still refusing to let go of the collar of Madison's blood-soaked vest.

"My men and I would consider it an honor to help with your friend, Ma'am."

The sharp intake of breath from Amelia made me look behind me. With her face cover off the brunette looked relieved as the sweat dripped from her face. She slid her MP5 behind her back and took a small step closer to us both, her focus only on my wife as she spoke.

The faint "thank you" was all it took. I stepped back and four other members of the FBI team surrounded Madison. A moment later the woman knelt beside her, her hand going to a pouch resting against her lower back. Something slid out and was rolled along the space beside Madison. She opened it further, showing a handle built into the fabric at each corner, and all four of the team lifted Madison onto the portable stretcher.

They carried her out of the house, with the respect and dignity of her being one their own. Martha and her husband stood at the gate. Amelia saw her and rushed into her arms. Henry must have let Tessa out, since she soon joined the group hug before parting so that the body of Madison would pass between them.

*******

The following days were fierce for us all. The Sheriff stopped the ferry for a day, and when it returned to normal service he had a deputy on it all day. Martha lived up to her reputation as Matriarch on Parkers Island, her calming influence proving a soft balm over the rest of the population when they found out that it was Amelia in the middle of a gun battle to protect not only her husband but Tessa as well.

The people of the island wanted to lash out at those who sought to destroy the peace in their little corner of the world, and hug Amelia at the same time. News filtered through the island that Hank and the rest of the veterans of the Vietnam War had backed up Em that night. A silent cheer went up for those brave men; more of the men on the island demonstrated their constitutional right to bear arms for a week or so afterwards, and I dare say a few of the women did as well.

The island's population and most now living on the mainland did what I suspected they would do: they closed ranks. One of their own was threatened, and they all wanted to push back. I expected to see the press stream onto the island: it never happened. In an age of social media and personal blogs, that night was never mentioned. Strings were pulled, and no doubt favors were being owed into the next century. That night never got as much as a byline.

Henry and his friends combed the rest of the island, but he told me they found nothing. He is a bad liar. The report of a helicopter landing on the northernmost tip of the island, the one side that has no inhabitants and a long gently sloping beach, went quickly around the island. Plus the fact that Henry and his friends hadn't been seen since the firefight, and reappeared less than an hour after the report of the helicopter landing, meant that the IQ of a brain surgeon wasn't needed to figure out the end result.

When Senator Chadwick arrived, his own security team looked real nervous. Martha and Amelia greeted him, Tessa arriving a few minutes later. I was on the phone almost hourly to the hospital. Lauren had had surgery on her wounds, and other than that they refused to release any information.

Shelby arrived just after Steven Chadwick had left, with four men from Bingham Securities. They took it personally when any of their people died.

"We're looking into who fucked up, Aiden. The assault team has left the house to us, and the forensic people have been real busy. We have already found a great deal, and Jacob Edwards himself wants the lead on this."

I had met the boss of Bingham Securities once. I could describe him in one word: imposing. But I had other things I wanted to discuss with Shelby.

"You gave the go-ahead for Bingham to train my wife. You covered her absence with the trips I've been making lately."

"Oh, grow up, Aiden. Madison suggested it to both Martha and me. She was concerned that two assets now lived on the island and only one shadow was assigned to protect them both. Amelia had nowhere near the standard of training required to keep you alive at the time; just remember it's that training that kept her alive last night."

The truth was I felt this was personal and, although reluctant to the bitter end to admit it, I could understand Shelby was being more practical. Martha joined our conversation; she wanted to send a letter of condolence to Madison's family. It shocked us both when Shelby told us that she was an orphan.

"Release her body to me at the end of your enquiries, Shelby."

The pause from Shelby forewarned of trouble.

"I can't do that, Martha. She belongs to Bingham."

The look on Martha's face was unreadable, and I suspected that Matriarch had taken over.

"She belongs to us now, Shelby. I know she died protecting Amelia, and that makes her ours. Do what you have to, Shelby, but she gets buried here so she will never be alone again."

Even Shelby knew she was in for a fight over this, and to her this was a minor distraction that she simply didn't need. She rolled her eyes and walked a few paces away, her cell already in her hand. It took a few minutes of pacing and hand-waving, but Martha got her wish.

Tessa and I spent three days and a portion of the Department's resources inventing a life for Madison. From a birth certificate that stated she was born on Parkers Island, to a driving record that showed she had over-indulged in the speeding department a couple of times in her life, and even three parking tickets over the course of five years.

Anyone looking into Madison's life now would never know the real Madison. If the funeral raised any form of suspicion, her new background would hold up nicely, not to mention flag up anyone sticking their nose into her past.

The FBI went to see the real owners of the house a day after the firefight on the island and, after a short interview, reminded them that, as part of an ongoing investigation, they were required by law not to talk to the press. The occupants understood the implications of the statement from the agent, and then pointed out that they themselves were born on Parkers Island and were bound by a higher authority than theirs.

Work on repairing the holiday house was all but complete almost two weeks later. Martha herself had contacted the owners and offered to buy back the house. They refused, but were happy to let Martha finish the repairs. They would sort out the damaged furnishing when everything else was done.

*******

Amelia spent the evening before the funeral ironing, polishing and re-ironing her best uniform. I held out the box of tissues when she cried, and held her tight to me when her memories became too much for her. I wouldn't say that the Sheriff's office shut for the day, but they sure did have to draft in a few Deputies from surrounding areas the day of Madison's funeral. Those that knew the truth made Madison an honorary Deputy.

When the ferry docked and the boat was secured, the doors opened and Amelia led the procession. She stood alone in front of the hearse, her stride measured and her back straight, as the procession left the ferry. When the last person set foot on the island, the ferry blew its horn in honor of the precious cargo it had just carried. It was also a signal for the smaller boats over in Clearwater Cove as one by one they added to the farewell song from the ferry.