Predators

"Don't think about that right now. Think about the evidence, the scene."

"You're right. Sorry."

"Okay, let's get downstairs. You stand outside the front door; we have to secure the scene."

She nodded her head, seemed unsteady. "Yeah."

"Give me your hand," he said when he got her to the top of the stairs. "You look kind of shaky."

He led her down the stairs, noticed she was still shivering when he got her out under the mid-summer sun. "Can you call Gibbons?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll be right back." Acheson ran to the iron fence and jumped it, then ran over to the car and got on the radio.

"741 to 700," he called, using his temporary and The Duke's call numbers.

"Go ahead, 41."

"We have multiple Signal 1s at this location."

"You aren't the only one, 41. Does it look fresh?"

"10/4, yes sir, maybe an hour, maybe less."

"700, get back-up headed to 741s location, Code 3!"

"700, at 1418 hours."

Acheson grabbed his hand unit, cursed himself for forgetting it, then jumped out of the car and drew his weapon just in time to hear Delaney scream, followed by rapid bursts of gunfire.

Then... silence.

"741, shots fired this location!"

"741 at 1419 hours."

He ran for the fence, jumped it, sprinted across the parking lot and found Delaney breathing heavily, blood all over her blouse and jacket and a defensive knife wound on her left forearm.

"That way," she said, pointing towards McKinney Avenue. "Black one piece suit, hood, about a fifteen inch blade," she said, gasping. "Black hair maybe," she said airily as she slumped to the ground.

"741, Signal 33, officer down behind 4408, am in foot pursuit of suspect at this time!" he yelled into the hand unit.

"741 at 1420 hours."

He heard sirens everywhere as he ran between buildings and out onto the grassy lawn in front of the apartment building. He shuddered to a stop, turned and looked both ways down McKinney.

Nothing.

"What the Fuck!"

He heard a car peeling out behind 4408 and ran back between the buildings for the alley, ran right past Delaney and hopped the iron fence again, then stopped in the alley.

Nothing.

"741, lost contact, heard a car leaving the area at high speed, going back to down officer."

"741 at 1421 hours, paramedics advise ETA less than two minutes."

"Received."

He jumped the fence again and got to Delaney's side; she was pale, breathing rapidly, and he pulled her coat open, saw a massive slashing wound across her belly, could make out her intestines through a pool of blood.

"Did you see the car?" he asked.

She nodded. "Bla-ck. Camaro. May-be -- mid 80s. T-tops. Clean. Two people inside, both masked."

"741, stand by for BOLO!"

"741, go ahead at 1422 hours."

"741, BOLO black mid-80s Chevrolet Camaro, t-tops, two occupants. Vehicle described as clean..."

"I seen 'em."

Acheson spun around, saw an old homeless man standing in the alley behind the fence, and he could smell alcohol on his breath from ten feet away.

"Describe them!"

"Yeah, okay. Only one I saw good was a gal, had on some kind of leotard like thing. Black. Her skin was real white, black hair. Had on..."

Sirens were close now, Acheson ran to the gate and hit the inside release and the powered gate started retracting just as the Fire Department's ambulance unit pulled onto Oliver.

"In here!" he yelled, waving his arms. When the driver saw him he turned and ran back to Delaney.

"They're here, kid, just hang on."

"Not feelin' too hot, Ace. Sorry."

He ran his hands through her hair, looked her in the eye. "C'mon. Just fight it a few more minutes. Keep breathing! You can do it!"

She nodded her head just as the first paramedic ran up.

Acheson backed out of the way, turned to the homeless man. "Okay, she had on what?"

"Well, like that girl there. High heels. Real nice ones."

"Color?"

"Black, man, like everything else she had on."

"741, more BOLO information. Suspect one, white female, black leotard, black high heels, very white skin, black hair, and, wait one...what did you say?"

"She had a big knife, man, and a gun, a pistol, in a black shoulder holster."

"741, suspect one armed with a knife and a handgun in a shoulder holster."

"741, at 1424 hours."

"Okay, did you see the driver of the car?" Acheson asked as he watched one paramedic starting CPR, while another started an IV.

"Not real good."

"Male, or female."

"Oh, a girl, same black hair, same clothes."

"Anything else stand out?"

"Yeah, the car. It had Oklahoma license plates."

"You sure?"

"Yeah..."

"741, BOLO update, suspect two probably a white female, same description, black hair, black clothing. Suspect vehicle reported to have Oklahoma license plates."

"741, at 1426 hours."

"700 to 741 on tactical, how's your partner?"

Acheson switched to the encrypted TAC channel, then keyed the mic: "Alive. Multiple knife wounds, bleeding out, looks bad. CPR and IV going now."

"Be there in about five."

"10/4. Sir, the suspect dragged a body from here, to their car, wherever that was. There's gonna be a blood trail. We need a lot of manpower here, right now."

"I'll take care of it, you look around but stay close to Delaney, ride with her in the box if we don't get there first. Find out anything you can, got it?"

"Yessir."

"We're going to transport now," a paramedic said. "You coming?"

"Yup."

+++++

"We've got a blood expander going now, and her BP's stabilized. Bad belly wound, but it doesn't look like the intestine or stomach is cut, so probably no peritonitis. There's a really, really good cutter at Parkland right now, guy named Sanchez, and he's standing by in the ER. My guess is she's going to be fine."

Acheson held her hand, squeezed it, and he felt her squeeze his hand in return: "Hear that, kid," he said gently in her ear, "everything's going to be okay."

She opened her eyes, looked at him oddly. "Are you crying?" she asked through the clouded green oxygen mask.

He rubbed his eyes. "Guess so. Sorry."

She squeezed his hand again. "Don't be sorry. It's not so bad."

"Shouldn't have left you alone."

"Bullshit. You did everything right. I screwed the pooch, lost my concentration."

"You remember anything?"

"Pretty sure I hit her in the arm, left arm, maybe her side too, like near the left ribcage. And her eyes. They were bright blue. Like really bright."

"Contact lenses?"

"Probably. And the hair. It's a wig."

"Witness said she was wearing shoes like yours."

She thought for a moment. "Didn't see that, but it wouldn't surprise me."

"Why?"

"They're nice shoes, Ace. Got you going, didn't they?"

"They sure did, baby."

"Why're you calling me that?"

"Because I don't want you to leave me."

"Why?"

He shrugged, shook his head. "I guess because..."

Her eyes fluttered, closed. The EKG began to dance, her BP started falling.

"Step on it, manno!" the medic called out to the driver. "She's crashing!"

"'Bout three minutes, Steve! Pump some more of that secret sauce in the bag!"

The ambulance pulled into the ER's parking area and backed up to the huge, covered unloading ramp; a team of nurses and medics was waiting and pulled Delaney from the box, then rushed her through sliding doors into Trauma 2; Acheson ran in behind them, only to be pulled out of the room by a uniformed officer. Acheson stepped back, pulled out his badge and the other officer let him go.

"Who is that," the officer asked.

"FBI."

"Oh, shit. Say, you wouldn't be Acheson, would you?"

"Yup."

The other officer stepped back. "Hey, man, that's cool...just don't, you know, like barf on me, okay?"

+++++

The Duke, Red Gibbons and Acheson sat in the surgical waiting room somewhere in the UT Southwestern hospital complex, and they were worried. Delaney's operations was supposed to last two hours max, but she had been under now for almost five hours.

For the first hour or so they had talked about the case, and the fact that the Camaro had been abandoned a few miles away and, not surprisingly, that the car had been reported stolen a few days hours earlier by some kids visiting from Tulsa. And again, no surprise, there were no unaccounted for fingerprints in the car, only a single Pepe Jimenez pump in the back seat, size seven, this one Navy blue.

Just like Delaney's.

As the second hour approached -- and passed, the talk turned more to Delaney, her background, and Gibbons talked about her like he knew her pretty well.

"She's just a kid, you know? Bright as hell, a psych major at Penn, went from grad school straight to the Academy at Quantico. Valedictorian. Hates guns, so with her background went into profiling. Seemed a natural, ya know what I mean? But she likes to play games, fuck with people's heads. Been bounced out of two postings, doesn't make friends. Probably intimidates too many people, those she doesn't irritate the hell out of, anyway."

"No boyfriend we need to call?" Acheson asked.

"She's cute, Ben, but watch out. Still waters -- know what I mean?"

"So that means, I take it, no boyfriend?"

"No one. You spend enough time around her and you'll get it."

The Duke watched this exchange knowingly, looked at Ben and saw all the signs, then shook his head. 'Well,' he said to himself, 'you never know when it's going to hit, do you?'

Passing four hours, Ben was almost beside himself. He was up and down, pacing back and forth, looking at the clock on the wall one minute, at his wristwatch the next, then a few minutes later a surgeon in bloody scrubs came into the waiting room.

Red and The Duke came over, stood next to Ben.

"A real mess in there," the doctor began. "Thought all we had was a knife wound, but we found this in there." He held up a bullet, and the three cops' eyes went wide. ".223, best guess, anyway. AR-15 probably. Too bad she wasn't wearing a vest."

"Is she okay," Acheson asked, now almost pleading.

"Well, yeah. Her gut's a mess, the bullet's the problem, though. Why she crashed, anyway. Nicked her aorta. Close call. Tim Snyder, a great vascular cutter, just happened to be around the corner when we put out the first Code Blue, but he was there when we needed him. He's still in there, finishing up. Her lucky day, I guess. Not too many docs around here could've handled a clusterfuck like this, and he's the best we got, period."

"So, she's gonna make it?" Acheson asked pointedly.

"Well, yeah. Didn't I just say that?"

"Thank you, doctor," The Duke said, taking Ben by the shoulder and turning him away. "Say, let's go get some dinner. Red? Wanna tag along?"

"Might as well," he said, looking at Acheson and shaking his head. "Where to?"

"Want some ribs? Sonny's is still open, and they're just across the street?"

"Didn't we eat there, for lunch?" Acheson asked through a fog.

"What, you some kinda Yankee? Can't eat Bar-B-Q two times in one day?"

"Well, I kinda wanted to keep my cholesterol under 1500, at least once in my life, anyway."

"Shee-yit, then don't eat two desserts this time, Meathead!"

+++++

He went up to her room after The Duke and Gibbons took off, sat up beside her while she slept -- until he too fell asleep -- sitting up in an old blue vinyl recliner. Sometime in the night a nurse came in and reclined his chair, covered him with a blanket, and he slept through a world of nightmare images: little boys being cut up by butchers, drowning in oceans of blood. Then he woke with a start around five in next morning -- when another nurse was drawing blood and checking vitals.

"You've been here all night?" he heard Delaney ask.

He sat up, rubbed his eyes, smiled when he saw her face. "Yeah, guess so. Where are all the horses?"

"Horses?" Delaney said. "What are you..."

"The ones that walked through my mouth. Tastes like one took a shit in here."

"Goddamn!" she cringed. "Don't make me laugh, you asshole!"

He came to her side. "Hurts, huh?"

"Feels like I've been shot."

"You were."

"What?"

".223. Just missed your right kidney, nicked your aorta."

"Shot?"

"In the back, kid. Whoever these bitches are, they're playing hardball."

"That's right. There's more than one."

"It's worse than that, kiddo. Best estimate is, as of now, anyway, there's at least four two-girl teams out there."

"What?"

"Three of the other search teams ran into them, when they went to their target houses."

"This is unreal. Have you ever heard of anything like this before?"

Acheson shook his head. "No one has. Gibbons told me last night the FBI is bringing a few hundred agents down from D.C. Full court press, I think he called it."

"How long am I going to be here? Anyone tell you?"

"Depends on your aorta, how it heals. Maybe a while, so maybe you're taking an early medical retirement."

"That bad?"

He nodded. "Could be, from what the doc told Gibbons. You're lucky to be here right now; that's what an OR nurse told me, anyway."

"Got that right, sweetie," the nurse finishing up her rounds added. "You coded, twice. Lucky ain't the half of it, sister!"

"Coded?"

"You was dead, sweetheart. Dead times two. Now, can I get you anything? Pain alright?"

"Feels okay. Kind of a bad burn in my back, that's all."

"Okay, I'll slip you something in your IV. You'll sleep good for a while, too."

"Could you give us a few minutes?" Delaney asked.

"Sure. Just hit that call button when you're ready." The nurse left the room.

"So, I remember you crying," she said.

"Yup. Like I said. Sorry."

"And I remember you squeezing my hand."

"Guilty, your honor."

"So, uh, I'm not going to ask any questions. Well, maybe one."

"Fire away."

"Are you, like, crazy or something?"

He laughed. "I wasn't. Not until I met you."

"Oh. What was it? My sparkling wit, or the shoes?"

"I'll never tell."

"Prick," she said with a smile.

"Douchebag."

They both laughed, then she winced, one eye closed tightly.

"Time for Mister Morpheus, me thinks," she said.

Then Acheson's phone rang.

Number blocked. He ignored it. Then it rang again. And he ignored it.

Then again.

He answered.

"Hello?"

"Tell her we're sorry." It sounded like a middle aged woman, mid-western accent.

"Who?"

"Delaney. Agent Delaney."

"And who would you be?" He reached down, put the phone on speaker.

"A friend of Anne's. I shot Agent Delaney."

Delaney's eyes went wide.

"So, why'd you shoot her?"

"I was trying to knock the gun out of her hand."

"Nice shooting. Any of your people hurt?"

"No. Tell Delaney, when she gets back to D.C. she needs more time on the range."

"Right. So, when is this going to end?"

"We're almost done. In Dallas, anyway. Then we're moving on."

"Moving on? We?"

"We accomplished what we set out to do. We're moving on."

"Don't suppose you want to tell me who 'we' is, do you?"

"Hang on."

They heard a phone being exchanged between people.

"Hello?" It was a new voice, an older woman's.

"Acheson here."

"Oh, hello, Ben."

"Excuse me, but have me met?"

"Only indirectly, but yes, we have."

"Oh? Are you Anne?"

"No names, Ben. Not yet."

"Got it. So, maybe someday?"

"Maybe, but I owe you another apology."

"Oh? What for?"

"Amy," she said, "and the other officers. I didn't find out Breedlove was a friend of yours until yesterday. Were you close?"

"Friends. From Academy."

"Oh. I understand. Well, I'm sorry."

"I'm curious," Delaney interrupted, "why are you calling now?"

"Agent Delaney? You're awake?"

"It's either that, or this is one seriously fucked up dream..."

The voice on the other end laughed, and they heard other women's voices in the background laughing as well.

"Obviously I'm not going to answer that, Agent Delaney, but you're on the right, shall we say, track?"

Then the line went dead.

"Now what did she mean by...Ben, what is it?"

But Acheson had gone stiff, as if an icy hand had suddenly gripped his heart.

He looked at his iPhone, found The Duke's home number and dialed it.

"Ben? That you?"

"Sir, I know where the bodies are, and there's something else."

"Ben, it's like five in the morning. Where are you?"

"Sir, with Delaney. They just called, here."

"Who? Who called you?"

"Them. The suspects. Just now."

"Fuck-a-doodle-do!" Acheson could tell the old man was now wide awake.

"Meet me at Fair Park, sir. On Washington, by the train exhibit, and get a CSU rolling."

"Do we need a TAC team?"

"I doubt it, sir, but better safe than sorry. They told me they're finished in Dallas, and moving on."

"What? Told you? You believe 'em?"

"Yessir. I think so. Still, it could be a trap."

"Okay. Give me...uh...we'll be there in about forty five minutes or so."

Acheson cut the connection, looked at Delaney.

"Holy mother-fucking guacamole," she said.

"I know. Gotta go, but...mind if I kiss you first?"

"If you don't, I'll shoot you myself."

He leaned over, kissed her gently on the lips.

"That feels nice," she sighed. "I could get used to that."

He kissed her again. Longer this time, and deeper, then he leaned back, ran his fingers through her hair, and noticed her eyes were locked on his.

"I've been waiting for you, for a long time," Delaney said.

"Have you now?" She winced again, took a deep breath. "Pain getting worse?"

"A little, yes."

"I'll get the nurse."

She nodded, but the skin on her face looked pale and waxy, and her brow was lined with beads of perspiration. "Ben, be careful. I doubt this is over. These aren't the kind of people that leave loose ends, and I sense something much bigger is going on."

He nodded. "I think you're dead right."

Chapter 11

Acheson took surface streets through town as dawn came to the city, and he made his way to Haskell Avenue and streaked east through light traffic towards Fair Park. As he approached Washington he turned off his headlights and wound around the convoluted intersection until he was sitting a few hundred yards away from a fairly large exhibit of old steam engines and passenger cars.

Within minutes he spotted The Duke's Ford, followed by several large dark blue step-vans, all with their headlights off.

Acheson flicked his lights once, and the caravan headed for his position.

"Seen anything," The Duke asked as he pulled up to Acheson's open window.

"Nothing."

"Okay, so why are we here?"

"A pun."

"A pun?"

"She said we were on the right track. This exhibit is right on the line, sir."

"Oh, fuck-a-doodle-do."

"Yessir. My sentiments, exactly."

The Duke picked up his radio's mic: "700 to all units, let's move in on foot, surround the train exhibit. Anything in there moves, kill it, ask for ID later. Got that?"

Seventy Tac Team officers poured out of the vans and sprinted around the fenced-in exhibit; Acheson and The Duke followed and went to a gate in the fence; the lock was destroyed. Some sort of acid had been poured on it, the metal had simply melted away, leaving the gate ajar.

"Blood?" Acheson said, pointing down at the ground. "Is that blood?"

A Tac sergeant came over, took out his SureFire and hit the ground with it's intense beam.

"Looks red to me," the sergeant said.

"Okay Collins, get ten of your best over here, and let's follow the trail."

The sergeant turned, called out names and a new team formed and assembled by the gate.

"Weapons free," The Duke whispered hoarsely. "Y'all follow me." He led off, the TAC sergeant by his side, Acheson just behind, and the rest of the team fanned out beside and behind the leaders, H&K MP-5s sweeping the area as they followed the blood trail...

...which led between two rows of old "heavyweight" passenger cars, and ended at an old Railway Post Office baggage/mail car...

...and the lock on this car had been similarly defeated; drooping bits of melted metal lay on the sill, and had dropped down onto the ballast below in slagging heaps...