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Chapter -15- Federal Holiday

_ _

Friday, September 15, 1:55pm EDT 953 Pennsylvania Avenue NW Washington D.C.

** Johann Foster licked his lips apprehensively.** "I thought you said we were going to find that guy, Fox Parker?"

"Aren't you having fun?" Karla asked. "We've spent a whole week together, and you've enjoyed it. I know you have."

"I can think of things I would have enjoyed a lot more."

Karla grinned. "I've been trying to condition you to be a bit braver, Johann. Think of it as a training mission."

"We never went to get Fox, even though you initially said we need him."

"Soon. Things came up, okay?"

Johann grimaced. He took a deep breath and tried to use an 'alpha-male' tone of voice with her. "You throw me on a plane and drag me all the way to Washington DC, clear across the country, and you're still not telling me what the hell we're doing here."

"You've been nagging me all the way since Reagan International, God."

Johann tried a softer voice. "I need to know what's going on, okay? Please, Karla."

The succubus sighed. "Okay ... look, I need information." Karla fluffed her hair. She tucked her cellphone down the front of her blouse, safely in her bra. "Why are mercenaries attacking our kind? Does the Government know about it? Are they helping?"

"I'm listening, Karla. You think Washington has answers?"

She offered him a smile. "Now, let's check facts. CIA works abroad. FBI works stateside. Esoteric people are being slaughtered. And not just overseas, but right here in America. If people are dying from being shot to death by groups of armed men all over the country, who do you think will be running that investigation?"

Johann looked up at the sign on the nearby building. He pursed his lips, reading the words, "J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building" above the main entrance. "You're serious?"

"Oh hell yeah. It won't be my first time crossing paths with the FBI, heh."

Johann swallowed. He looked up at the building towering over his head. POW and MIA awareness flags flapped in the breeze above.

Karla crossed her arms beneath her bust line. "You ready?"

"What're you going to do? Walk in there and ask who the lead investigator is?" He looked back down at the shallow concrete trench around the building. "And why does this place have a concrete moat around it?"

"Oh sweetheart, you have so much to learn. I'm going to break in, take what information I need, then we're going to leave."

Johann's eyes widened.

Karla grinned. "I might try something more traditional before resorting to that, if I must."

"Break into the FBI? In the middle of the day? Are you crazy?!"

Karla lifted a finger, telekinetically clamping his jaw. "Yeah, you might want to keep it down. Look, babe, I need to know what's going on. The only way to get to the bottom of this is to take action."

"I hate action," he said in a muffled tone.

"Aw, hon, if you hang out with me, you'll learn to love action like a Hawaiian loves Spam."

Johann blinked, feeling a release of tension against his jaw. "What?" He opened his mouth twice, then rubbed the side of his chin with his palm. "What does that even mean?"

Karla laughed with a smile. "Don't be so culturally ignorant. Spam is the only reason Hawaii became a state."

"...What?"

She grinned again. "Hawaiians don't exactly like us for our cultural drama, our military bases, our science observatories on their mountains, and our vacationers."

Johann tilted his head, expecting some sort of punchline.

Karla delivered. "They simply, you know, tolerated us ... for our Spam."

"Oh ... kay, then." Johann folded his arms. "I told you I'm not trying to die. Why did you bring me with you? You could have done this all by yourself. I am not going in there with you."

"Yes, dear. You are. You can manipulate objects on a molecular level. You're my clever escape plan. Besides, you can't just run away, Johann. I'll just teleport you right back to my side. Now, nut up. It's time to teach you testicular fortitude and make you a man."

"You're asking me to walk into the hottest of hot-zones I could ever think of, Karla!"

She reached up and cupped the side of his face. Karla trailed her thumb over his lips. "The best firefighters in the world have a healthy fear and respect for fire. You're afraid, and that's okay Johann. But you won't die."

"Karla, they have security cameras pointing at us right now, using geometrics to study our faces. We'll become public enemies and have warrants out for our arrest."

"Stop grousing. What are you so worried about?"

"Being thrown into a cell in there. What's with the moat, anyhow?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said the succubus with an airy laugh. "This is mostly administrative and executive level stuff, here. And hush about the concrete moat. There are very few crocodiles in it, and almost no piranhas."

Johann brought his hands up over his face and rubbed his palms into his eyes with a sigh. "Federal Agents are armed, the security at every entrance is armed. There are a lot of people with weapons in that building."

Karla smiled. "The Washington Field Office is right around the corner on 4th. They have even more agents and guns. The holding cell and interrogation rooms are over there, by the way. Just think, babe, we'll be surrounded by..."

"Stop, please. Karla, I can't do this. I'm not breaking into the FBI. Look at the size of that building. We wouldn't even know where to look. This sort of thing needs to be handled delicately and..."

Karla interrupted him by placing her thumb on his lips again. "Wrong. Before now, the sects would have used clout, money and political favors to get information out of this building. But they're all dead now."

Johann swallowed, followed by a sigh through his nose.

She kept her thumb on his lips. "First of all, I need to make sure the FBI isn't somehow behind it. And if not, I want to see what they know about the mercenary teams that are shooting our kind. Why aren't these attacks talked about in the media? Who is silencing this and why?"

"Why did you bring me with you?"

"Because you worked for the Grand Justiciar," she said calmly. "With everyone else dead, you're the closest thing we have to leadership. And I don't want to do this alone. I need eyes in the back of my head. Yours will do nicely. I have a plan. Just follow my lead."

"I'm going to regret this," he said with a hopeless tone of voice.

Karla smiled. "Probably."

"I just wish I wasn't so focused on being so ... nervous."

Karla slid her thumb over his lips again. She leaned forward and kissed him softly.

Johann tensed up and froze.

Karla probed his mouth with her tongue and cupped either side of his face. After a moment, she broke the kiss and said, "If you can be brave, there will be more of that in your future."

Johann nodded quietly.

She pointed to the sign above the revolving door that read, 'Business Appointments,' took his hand, and gave a tug. "Let me do the talking, babe."

X

X

Meanwhile...

** A Cadillac limousine** turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue at the corner of Pershing Park, headed eastbound through Washington DC.

The Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security leaned back in his seat and sighed. "I've never seen the President that angry before. At least it's a Friday."

"Bobby, I have a family now. I have to think about Christine. She's sixteen weeks old tomorrow."

Secretary Robert Shaw rolled his eyes. "No offense, Ted, but I can't stand people who measure their children's age in weeks. It's not a pregnancy anymore, you can start counting in months. When the kid turns one, you start counting in years."

Theodore Holloway grimaced. "You think I'm beneath you, don't you, Bobby?"

Robert narrowed his gaze at Theodore. "Listen, Ted. Congratulations on your daughter, okay? But Homeland Security is a bigger beast than your Health and Human Services, okay? You're worried about your job, the President, and your new family - I get it. But I'm worrying about an entire nation of children and families."

Ted Holloway took a deep breath. He withdrew his phone and gazed down at the screen. He stared at the image of his African American wife holding his bright-eyed mulatto daughter.

Robert glanced out the window for a moment. He turned back to the the Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services. He eyed Theodore's phone. "She's a pretty mulatto girl, Ted."

"Thanks." He lifted his gaze to Robert. "Nobody uses 'mulatto' anymore, Bobby. The etymology comes from 'mule.' She's not a hybrid, she's a human being, and she'll have the best, most beautiful tan skin."

"Okay, okay. Christ."

"Let's talk about something else," Ted said. He glanced back down at his cellphone.

Robert took a deep breath, followed by a drawn out sigh. "So, have you heard from that guy - Sire?"

Theodore Holloway stole a brief glance at Secretary Robert Shaw.

Silence.

"Ted, I asked you a question."

"They were your people that..."

Shaw held his hands up defensively. "I might oversee Homeland Security, but those 'Esoteric People' or whatever the hell they call themselves..."

"Specials."

Robert grimaced. "Yes, Specials. They were killed all over the world. That is not my fault."

"Ted stared at the image of his family.

"Sire said that everything was going to work out."

"Yeah, Bobby. It'll all work out for him. What kind of name is 'Sire' anyhow? That guy was bad news."

Robert clenched his hands into fists. "You're the one who basically earmarked funds for Aris Falcon's experiments."

"I wasn't involved in the cover up of people's execution, Bobby."

Robert ground his teeth together. "Cryogenics? Drug and genetics research? How come you kept that from the rest of us?"

"Sire told me what needed to be done. The President told me to follow his instructions last year! Technically, I was doing my job."

"Well that's what I was doing, Ted!"

"God dammit, Bobby, you oversaw a clandestine department that trained mercenaries, police officers and any goddamned Joe-shmo to sign up for this mess!" Theodore raised the volume of his voice. "It came unglued and now it's our asses on the line!"

"Keep it down," Robert hissed. "The driver hasn't been read-in on this shit, Ted!"

"I don't even like you, Robert! How the hell did we wind up taking the same limo? God! I'm going to lose my job over this! I have a family to think about! I have an infant, goddamn it!"

"Ted, calm down."

"I was told that this operation would save lives, not take them!"

"Ted ... I never realized how much you whine. Sire told me that the President signed off on the order. I had it in writing."

"You had what in writing, Shaw?"

Robert glowered at the other Secretary. "I was told that the Esoteric Community was at war with itself, and the winning side unanimously decided to plot terrorist attacks on the Government in order to overthrow it."

Theodore blinked in silence.

Robert continued his explanation. "Falcon has been studying these people for a long time and he's the authority on how to find them. I was told we were green-lightning an operation to take them down as enemies of America. I was doing my job, helping to train people to discretely prepare for the impending attack."

Theodore ground his molars together in frustration. "What if this Sire guy lied to us? Or to the President? I did everything by the book."

"The book obviously wasn't enough," Robert said. "That's why we have to talk this out and defend ourselves. We both know we did nothing wrong. But we can't work together until you calm down, Ted."

Theodore slammed his free hand down on the upholstered seating. "Excuse me for being in shock, Shaw! The goddamn President of the United States of America called me a traitor to my country, Robert. I can't even begin to wrap my head around it!"

"That's why we need to talk this out, Ted. Calm down."

"I know that you were in charge of killing those ... 'mutants,' or whatever those goddamn people are ... but I was providing Falcon with research to help the situation!"

"Well, all I know is ... we're both in the same boat, here. Scapegoats." Robert Shaw glanced out the window, admiring the architecture of the Old Post Office Pavilion on the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 12th Street.

"We know too many classified secrets, Shaw. I'm not trying to wind up in a bunker in Cuba."

"Maybe this will blow over, Ted."

"How do you figure?"

"We weren't arrested. The FBI isn't investigating us. No one said anything about a trial."

"The President flipped his goddamn lid, Shaw."

"Maybe the man is just speaking out of anger. Kind of like you are, right now, Ted. Calm down."

The limo slowed to a stop.

"Have you ever seen the President raise his voice like that, Bobby? Ever in your life? You've known him for a long time; is it normal for him to behave like that?"

Robert shook his head. "No. Thing is, he was just as in-on-this as we were. This operation killed several thousands Americans, Ted. I only just found out that over a hundred and fifty thousand of them were killed across the globe. That's not our doing."

Ted grimaced. "Yeah, great, our country was complicit in genocide. I'll tell you right now, Shaw, the President isn't going to go down for genocide. He was manipulated and he won't go down without a fight."

Robert nodded in agreement. "You're right. The President is going to want to stay as far away from this whole thing as possible."

"Trust me, Shaw, we're scapegoats. Face it, our careers are over."

The window leading to the driver lowered.

Ted and Robert exchanged glances, confusion on their faces.

"Hey, this conversation is private," said Shaw. He reached for a button to put the window back up but the switch did nothing.

The driver turned about and pointed a Sig Saur back at them, with a flash suppressor barrel on the end.

Theodore bit his lower lip. "That's a silencer..."

"Fuck," said Robert under his breath.

The gun bucked with two staccato clicks.

Robert glanced over at Theodore Holloway, who slumped down in his seat. Ted dropped his cellphone and his chest. He crumpled to the carpeted floor.

Just outside of the limousine, two black Chevy Suburban's pulled up in the adjacent lane.

Robert glanced back at the driver just in time to see the weapon discharge again...

Silence.

Ted Holloway twitched involuntarily. The pain in his chest was beyond comprehension. His head lulled to the side, coming face to face with Robert Shaw.

Shaw had a round bloody mark on his forehead, between his eyebrows.

Ted wanted to be afraid but he knew he was dying. It was too late for fear.

The two bullets in his chest caused blood to soak his back in a puddle on the carpet. He reached for his cellphone up on the leather sofa chair and closed his fingers around it.

Holloway could somewhat feel the limo move forward again, picking up in speed. His adrenaline provided a surreal sense of clarity.

Theodore looked up and saw the FBI building in passing, through the tinted window. Ted thumbed the screen to his phone, opened the phone application and dialed 911.

The phone clumsily changed orientation from the angle he was holding it. The display went from portrait to landscape view. The green 'call' button moved to the other end of the screen, away from his thumb.

He tried to reach his index finger up along the screen towards the little green icon of a phone receiver, but doing so caused him to lose his grip.

The phone fell on the carpet next to his hip.

Holloway reached for it again.

All at once, the limo slammed into something.

The jolt caused Ted to flop over. He became wedged up against the front corner, against another seat.

Ted didn't see his phone. He pondered if the limo collided with another car.

The smell of burning plastic and rubber filled his nose.

He continued to grope about for his cellphone, unable to find it.

Holloway expected dying to make everything feel like it was happening in slow motion, but it was the exact opposite.

Fire consumed the front of the limo rapidly. The tinting film on the glass between the front and the rear section began to bubble up.

One of the windows shattered from heat. Glass covered Ted's chest and legs. He continued to reach about himself, searching for his phone.

His fingers brushed over the phone and he fumbled with it briefly. Ted brought it up to his face then thumbed the 'call' button.

It rang once and connected with an emergency service's operator. A masculine voice came over the line. "...Please state your emergency."

"Ted Holloway," he wheezed. "Limo is on fire. I think we hit something. Shaw is dead."

"Sir, can you tell me where you are at?"

"Near FBI on Pennsylvania," Ted said, struggling to catch his breath. "Bleeding out."

"Sir I'm going to need you to stay on the line while I dispatch emergency services."

Ted found it difficult to breathe. "We were gunned..." He took another labored breath then added, "Rochelle, Christine, I love you."

Holloway dropped the phone. The sound of the operator's voice faded away.

The heat of the approaching fire felt distant.

Theodore let out one final breath, and his body relaxed.

X

X

Meanwhile, J. Edgar Hoover Building ...

** "What's going on out there?" ** Karla crossed her left leg over her right thigh. "I just saw someone running through the hallway."

She glanced over at Johann, who appeared to be a nervous wreck. Karla gazed back at the man in the tie sitting behind a nice desk. "Well?"

"One moment." The man with the tie stood up and walked to the office door. He stepped out into the hallway and whispered to someone in passing.

Karla reached over and gave Johann a gentle nudge. "Relax," she whispered.

"He's really tall," Johann replied in a hushed tone. "It's a bit intimidating."

A moment later, the man in the tie returned to his desk and settled in his chair. "Miss Howard, today simply isn't your day."

"Today is my day, Jim."

The man grimaced at Karla.

"What? You know who I am. You know what I can do. I'm not some girl who wandered in off the street, asking for a tour of the FBI. We both know each other's secrets. You, of all people, invited me up here. Why? Because you didn't want to 'read-in' your lobby staff on what I can do?"

"Ms. Howard..."

"Aren't you past your prime for being the FBI director? Ten years, right? You just passed your ten year mark back in July, right?"

"Why are you acting like this, Ms. Howard?"

"Because there's something serious happening outside of this office. I need to make sure you're not going to have an assault team waiting for me in the hallway."

Johann swallowed.

Karla leaned forward, resting her breast on the desk surface. She narrowed her gaze at the FBI man in the suit and tie. "What's going on outside? Don't lie. I came here out of respect. Lying would be disrespectful. Are we friends, or not?"

James glanced from Karla to Johann, and back to Karla. He folded his hands. "There was an accident out on Pennsylvania. Apparently the person killed was a Federal employee. Protocol is to lock down the scene, because he works for the Government. But because it happened in front of a Government Agency building, some of my people are understandably upset."

Karla rolled her eyes. "You've been giving us the cold shoulder this whole time. You didn't even take us to your real office."

"So, you know who I am?"

"Of course I do," Karla said. "You're the director of the FBI. I mean, hell, we _should _be talking in a SCIF. It's like you don't even take me seriously; I'm surprised you offered to even see us in the first place."

"Ms. Howard..."

Karla held a hand up. "What about my request?"

"Ms. Howard, your paperwork is valid and what you're telling me lines up. But to sequester documents that old..." James shook his head.

"Go on, tell me your crappy excuse, Jim-bo."

James stared at her for a moment. He smoothed his tie. "Unless you're the President, you don't just walk into this building and tell us you want that file today. That's not how it works. Besides, files that old - there are no digital copies. I would have to read someone into the program so they know what they're looking for, and then have them find it in archive."

"Okay," Karla said with a slow nod of her head. "And what about the other thing I mentioned earlier?"

"Regarding what you've told me about people being shot by paramilitary types in black gear..." James shifted his weight in his seat. "You need to head over to the field office and talk to an agent, so they can conduct a proper investigation."

"I showed you photographs I took on my cellphone," she said.

"Yes, you did."

"Don't lie to me, Jim. I'm sure they already have an investigation going. Besides, that's not why I'm here."

James tilted his head.

"I'm telling you that I'm being hunted. What's in those files may help keep me alive. And my friend, here," she gestured to Johann. "Guess what? He worked for Reinhardt."

"Ms. Howard ... let me explain something to you." The man placed his pen on his desk and folded his hands. "I brought you up here because I already knew who you are."

"Yes, I already mentioned that a moment ago."

James tapped his thumbs together, keeping his hands folded. "Mueller didn't like you. Freeh hated you."

Karla smiled at the mention of Louis Freeh. "Oh yeah. The Pizza Man. I'd forgotten about him. He did good work handling the Unabomber and the Montana Freeman thing."

James lowered his eyes and then lifted them once more. "You really are older than you look, aren't you?"

"Yes, darling. I knew Stanly Finch. His first day on the job in the summer of 1908, he started asking questions about the explosion in Tunguska. Keep in mind, nosing around in Esoteric affairs was not the American Government's business back then. They were supposed to go after criminals who crossed state lines. So when he started nosing around in my business, I got up in his."

James stared at her for a moment.

Karla stared back.

James furrowed his brows. "You do realize, as Director of the United States FBI, I already know the history of this agency."

"God, I would hope so, after ten years at the helm."

James cut his gaze from Karla to Johann, and then back to Karla.

Karla leaned back in her seat, arms folded beneath her bustline.

"Ms. Howard, I am responsible for fifty-six field offices, including a new one that we'll be opening soon. I oversee crimes on Native American reservations. I head Intelligence and counterintelligence operations, and fifty-six international legal attachés around the world. And even with all this power, Ms. Howard, I still have trouble believing that Esoteric people are real."

"You want to see some parlor tricks, Jimmy?

"Yes, I know they've been attacked. Yes, it's under investigation. NO, you're not getting any files today. They have to be reviewed and properly redacted for national security before any copies find their way into your hands. This meeting is over. I will have a senior field agent personally escort you back to Reagan, so that you can fly back to California ... immediately."

Karla huffed with indignation, stood up and put her hands on her hips. "This is a free country, asshole. You can kick me out onto the street, but you can't tell me where to go."

James sighed. "You're right. I'm offering to send you home free of charge."

"In a luxury Leer Jet, right?"

"I don't think so," James replied.

Karla stood only slightly taller that James, seated. She glanced back at Johann and said, "You're right, babe. He is tall." She leaned forward, over the desk, and said, "I once made a deal and stole information for Robert Mueller. That's why he tolerated me - I could teleport."

"Are you seriously accusing my predecessor of hiring you to break a law?"

"More like ... to uphold the law." Karla grinned. "In exchange for my help, Rob said he would put my file into archive or some-such. Somewhere that was safe. He said it would be akin to having a clean record. You bozos haven't chased me since 1996. At least not actively. We had an understanding."

"And we left you alone for a long time. So why are you here, Ms. Howard?"

"The leaders of my kind are dead. Not just in America. All over the world. Someone wants us extinct. Here's where you come in, Jim-boy: They're operating out of this country. They're giving money to Doctor Aris Falcon, who set up his shop in California, right across the bay from my condo."

James raised his brows.

Karla's hands returned to her hips. "The surviving people with active abilities won't go down without a fight. So you either help us or you stay out of our way. I need that file and I know where it's hiding. I know it's in this building. I know exactly where to find it."

"Excuse me?" the Director eyed her, studying her expression. "You honestly know where it's located? I suppose you're going to tell me you've checked every inch of the two-point-eight million square feet of this building?"

"Didn't need to," said Karla.

James unfolded his hands, but remained otherwise unresponsive to her claim.

Karla looked around the office. "You know, I can't wait for this building to get knocked down. It's fugly. It's falling apart already."

"Excuse me?"

She gestured all around herself. "The land beneath this building is worth way more than a new building. I hear they're going to tear this place down soon. Within the next five years."

"I've been hearing that since before I started as Director."

Karla smirked. "Here's my counter offer, Chuckles: Do you want me to knock this bitch down for you right now? Unless you want to see what I can do, I suggest you give me my file, smile, and shut up about protocol."

"Karla!" Johann cringed. "Are you serious? What's gotten into you?"

The succubus stepped out from behind her chair and folded her arms. "DC sucks. The traffic sucks. This city ran out of room at Arlington National. FBI headquarters is falling apart."

James sighed. "What's your point, Ms. Howard? I invited you up here as a courtesy, but you're not returning the respect."

"Jimbo, your suit looks like it costs less than fifteen hundred dollars. How can you be seen wearing that?"

"Alright. I've had enough. You're leaving. Now."

Karla curtsied her skirt. "Great! Let me just go get my file. One sec! Be back in a jiff, Jimmy! Don't try to follow me." Without another word, she disappeared.

Johann hid his face in embarrassment.

The Director stood up from behind his desk, eyes wide.

"Director, sir, please just fly me back to San Francisco. I'm..."

"Where is she?" James walked around from behind his desk and glanced about the office. "Now I need to lock down the..."

Another man came into the office and said, "Director Comey, we have a serious problem."

"What now?!" the Director exclaimed.

"We've identified the people from the car accident. And the President is on the line."

Johann bit his lip, looking from the deputy director back to the director.

James glared at Johann. "Where is she, Mr. Foster?"

Johann shrugged his shoulders. "Look, she said she wouldn't be long. We don't want any trouble. I like my country - I'm not trying to piss it off. I'm ready to go home. I just want to leave. I'll even wait out on the sidewalk for her, if you want."

"Sir? The President?" said the deputy director.

James stared at Johann, trying to get a read on his face. The Director glanced towards the doorway to the office. "Get this boy out of my office and have someone drop him at Reagan. I want him on the first flight back to San Francisco. Have someone from one of our field offices pick him up when he lands. Have them call me personally when they receive him." James' eyes cut back to Johann. He added, "That will give me a little time to decide what the hell to do with you, kid."

The deputy director turned to someone out in the office and gestured to them. "Get this boy to San Francisco, safely."

An armed man in a suit came into the office.

Johann was quickly led out of the room and down the hall.

James picked up his phone with a sigh, and punched in a PIN number. A moment later, he said, "Mister President, this is Director James Comey..." He grew quiet and frowned. "Yes sir, it has just been brought to my attention, that the..." Again, he frowned at the interruption. "I've already begun an investigation into the complaints about groups of paramilitary soldiers attacking people claiming to have..."

Over the line, the President interjected once more. "I'm pulling the plug on your investigation, Director."

"Understood."

"From here on out, USPRI is handling that," said the President, pronouncing the acronym to sound like, 'Osprey.' "Your agents don't have the security clearance for this. USPRI is also already on the scene in front of your building."

"I'm waiting for the report. Something about a car accident." _ _

"Two members of my cabinet were killed by supernatural means. Their deaths are masqueraded to look like they were shot during a car wreck. I've decided I'm going to tell the press that they were killed in a simple car accident. If we don't sweep up the breadcrumbs, it will lead back to this administration, and the complete extinction of the Esoteric Community."

"Complete extinction, Mister President?"

"I recently learned there are none left. The man who killed my two cabinet members was the last one, and he chose to die on a suicide mission."

Comey furrowed his brows. Something didn't feel right about the President's story. "Mr. President, with all due respect, how can we be sure that all the Specials are dead?"

"_IF _there are any survivors, it may only be one or two left in the world. Possibly ones who haven't yet manifested an ability. I'm working with people who will try and resolve this quietly, but if the public were to find out that over 150,000 people were killed in a week, there is going to be a serious state of upset and panic."

"Again, with all due respect, Mr. President, the claim that these people were hunting deserves a serious investigation with a better budget than USPRI has."

"Director Comey, we've always enjoyed the luxury of these people being completely secret. It will stay that way. They're gone. I've shut down USPRI. There are only a handful of active agents left. All USPRI's operations will cease by the end of the month. They're not necessary anymore. But until I pull the plug on, I need the FBI to stay out of their way. Are we on the same page, Director?"

"With all due respect, I cannot speak for my successor."

"You have a week left before you're replaced, correct?"

"Roughly."

"This will be your last big decision before you retire. Make it a good one. Make it the right one."

"Mr. President, are you threatening me, sir?"

"I understand that what I'm saying is likely to upset you. However, I want you to think of the panic and chaos. Consider what would happen if the American People thought we were somehow responsible for the global genocide of a minority group. The entire race was already wiped out. There are no survivors to investigate. This is a closed case, and I want your office to cease all investigations regarding these people."

"Yes, Mister President." James glanced at the two empty chairs across from his desk. "Completely understood, Mister President. These people 'no longer exist' and neither does an investigation."

"I'm glad you understand, Director. Now, pull your people from the car accident across the street."

James picked up his cellphone and thumbed a text message. It read, 'May be late for dinner.'

"Did you hear me, Director Comey?"

James cleared his throat and said, "Thank you for your call, Mister President." He hung up the phone.

His cellphone binged a reply from 'Patrice,' which read, 'Something tells me it isn't from rush hour, Jim.'

He stared at the phone for a moment. James thumbed the screen. 'Something happened and I'm not digging it.'

Patrice's reply text read, 'Then do something about it.'

James laughed out loud, despite being alone. It was a sort of cackle, something he did to break the tension he felt on his shoulders. He thumbed the screen. 'This is big.'

'On a scale of one to ten?'

'On a scale from Kozlowski to World War 3, this is ... nuclear.'

'Tell me when you get home.'

Comey shook his head and stood up. He looked down at the phone screen again, cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, and walked out of the office.

X

X

_ _

Minutes later...

** Karla Howard** ground her teeth together.

The smell of mildew and the quarter-inch deep water in which she stood annoyed her.

She faced a large metal door, with the appearance of a bank vault. Her palms, forearms, biceps and shoulders glowed a brilliant carnation color. She kept her hands outstretched towards the vault.

A familiar voice came from behind, "Ms. Howard, what do you think you're doing?" His shoes splashed softly in the shallow water.

She scrunched her nose up in disgust. "Go away, Comey. I'm not done cracking your vault yet. And you really need to fix the flooding, down here."

"Did you know you're the only American Citizen to ever see this vault? Many agents have worked their entire career in this building and never knew about it."

"Uh-huh."

James shook his head with a chuckle. "That's because this section is restricted." He approached her on the left and folded his arms. "To be honest ... I've never even seen inside of it."

She cut her sea-green gaze towards him. "Why the hell not?" She spoke through clenched teeth while keeping her hands outstretched towards the vault.

"For the same reason the Government talks about giving us a new, modern building, but hasn't. It would mean dangerous old files would see the light of day. This vault, right here, is worth more than the building and the land it's on, combined. "

"And you're here to stop me?"

"After ten years as Director, I'm curious about what's in this vault, Ms. Howard."

"I'll have it open in a jiff."

James laughed again. He shook his head. "I saw you teleport out of my office. Why don't you just teleport into the vault?"

She eyed him, intrigued by how his personality was more relaxed than before. "That's not how it works, ya' goober. If I appear inside another object of matter, it will kill me. Did you want a science lesson about the Eldridge?"

"That was just a myth." The Director paused and trailed off. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I plead the fifth amendment," she replied. "Stand back so you don't get hurt, douchebag."

"Look, we're not enemies, here," he replied with a sigh. "I don't think that vault opens anymore. I'm not sure who had it sealed - either Clarke or Sessions."

"Yup, it's been a while." She focused on the door with a grimaced. Karla pursed her lips.

James towered over the demure, petite succubus. He crossed his arms over his chest, but then dropped his arms at his side. "I thought you wanted an active file - you mentioned something by Mueller. What do you expect to find in there?"

"The original file," she said, adding, "I expect you to give me the new file."

"And why is that?"

Karla shrugged. "I'll spare you the sales pitch. You're a captured customer, now, Jimbo."

Comey lifted his chin slightly but appeared otherwise stoic. "You mean 'captive' customer."

"Yeah. That."

"Ms. Howard, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I'm stern and serious when I have to be. But only when I need to show authority."

"Yeah, I know, you were a lawyer. Acting Attorney General at one point, right? Yeah, I read the papers. How come you don't have a New York or New Jersey dialect, hmm?"

"I'm trying to level with you."

"A Republican out of New York. That's kind of rare."

James replied with good-natured laughter. "I moved to Virginia."

"You're not like what I expected from an FBI director."

"And you're not what I expected from a succubus. I thought girls don't like boys - girls like cars and money. But here you are, down here, motivated, and seemingly in-the-know over things most people shouldn't know."

"Did you just quote Good Charlotte?"

"I suppose I did."

"I'm more of a metal-lover, myself."

"There's nothing wrong with liking what you like."

Karla glanced over her shoulder at him and gave a wry grin. "Why are you suddenly being so nice to me, anyhow? And where's your security team, huh?"

"Will I need them?"

Karla smirked. "Let me guess, you gotta be GS-99, or SES-10 to come down here?"

"Like I said, most people don't know this vault exists."

She scoffed in reply. "These moldy walls are sensitive material above the pay grade of your security team?" The succubus smirked again.

He offered a smile, deciding to play her game. "This room is TS/SCI, Director's Eyes Only status. The hallway leading out to the basement is Top Secret, Compartmentalized Information status. The room leading to the hallway ... mm, well, I do believe you get thee, uh, gist."

Karla offered a sheepish grin. "So ... you're not as hard-ass as you seemed upstairs, huh? So what about the vault? What level of clearance is that?"

"It doesn't exist."

"I'm standing right here, staring at it."

"You asked what level of clearance. My answer is that it doesn't exist. That's the clearance level. The FBI had a better handle on our vault, than the CIA kept on Groom Lake."

Karla grinned at him. "I see what you did there - Area 51 joke. Nice."

"I'm glad you approve." James gestured his hand towards the large vault door. "How do you expect to open it?"

"Because I'm the vixen vedette, and this is my show."

James chuckled and shook his head. "You've got a lot of confidence, Ms. Howard. Just the same, I was being serious." He gestured to the vault. "If you can't teleport inside, how do you plan to access it?"

"Magic." She grinned again. "So why did you come down here?"

"How do you mean?"

She smirked, thinking back on something he'd said earlier. Karla's smirk evolved into a wry grin. "Two-point-eight million square feet and you chose this room."

"I'd love for you to believe it's my experienced investigative skills, honed over the length of my career." James unbuttoned his blazer and loosened his tie. "You tripped a motion sensor alarm that goes straight to my office."

Karla scoffed. Her grin returned. "And now you're being jovial with me. Is that all it takes to get respect around here? A few parlor tricks, like teleportation?"

"Things are complicated, now. I just spoke to the President. He told me that you don't exist anymore. Then he told me to leave it alone."

"My kind, or me personally?"

"Your kind. What does the boy do?"

"He can change the molecular properties of mass. Did I describe that right? Basically he can turn a solid into a liquid or a gas, or vice versa. He was my escape plan just in case you were a jerk."

"Ms. Howard, your active file with us ... we no longer have it. It was transferred over to a clandestine investigative agency."

She rolled her eyes and returned her focus on keeping her body tensed up. Her muted pink palms brightened. Her forearms and biceps glowed just beneath her skin. "Which one this time?"

James tilted his head somewhat. "The only one that specializes in crimes committed by Specials: The United States Paranormal Research and Investigations agency. They retroactively redacted everything we still have on file. I'm sure you've heard of USPRI," he said, pronouncing the word like 'Osprey.'

"Cool; my existence is 'Need to Know.' Nifty." She tightened her jaw, trying to open the vault with her abilities. "Time for you to start a new file now that we're talking." She tensed her arms, keeping her hands outstretched towards the vault door.

The large metallic door creaked softly, causing a light layer of dust to come away from the wall around the frame.

"Ms. Howard, the President doesn't know you're alive. If he does, he dis-informed me because he had no idea Johann was sitting right in front of me at the time."

Her grin brightened. "Our every dialogue will have to be notated in an 'Eyes Only' folder labeled, 'Operation Pogostick.' I've always wanted to meddle in the spy world."

"Is that so?"

"I'm hotter than some Bond Girl, after all. I just need a codename cooler than Pussy Galore." She grimaced, still working on the vault.

"It doesn't get much 'cooler' than that, Ms. Howard."

"True."

James licked his lips. "You and your friend may very well be the very last two of your kind. The President says you don't exist anymore. Making a new file on you would bring attention to the fact that you're alive."

"So you're not going to create a file?"

"No. I have a family that can be leveraged if someone wants the file badly enough. I'm not willing to chance things."

"Fair enough."

"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked in a soft tone. "Your people were forced to live in secret, now their death will be a secret as well."

"They're not my people," Karla said sharply. "A few of the council members hated me because Hoover had a file about me. That's a big no-no."

"So that's why you were mentioned in files passed down through each director."

"Yup." Karla stole a side-glance at James. She looked back towards the large door in front of her. "So, you didn't tell the president about me?" Karla kept her hands towards the vault.

"No. I suggest that you do not run around touting your abilities or draw attention to yourself. If you do, you'll wind up disappearing. He wants this situation to go away."

"That's because he doesn't want We The People to question his administration of participating in a crime against humanity. You don't just let your administration get away with murdering an entire race of people."

"You're awfully modernized for being older than everyone else."

"That's how I hide in plain sight. Give me a minute, Jim. I'm almost finished, here."

The Director eyed her. He took a step back from the vault. "What are you doing to that vault door, anyhow?"

"Watch and learn." She kept her eyes on the round metal entrance. The sound of metal creaking caused her to smile, slightly.

"That door had to be cast right here in this room, because it weighs too much to have been brought in from outside. It weighs too much to be brought in by a truck."

Karla shrugged. "Won't be long, now. So, all official files about me were taken out of your system huh? Good thing the one I want is on paper. So how do you know so much about me, anyhow?"

"What I could find on you was in Mueller's personal archive file that was passed from Director to Director. Teleportation and telekinesis - that last one is the ability to move things with your mind, correct?"

"Uh-huh." She ground her teeth together and strained her upper body.

"Are you trying to rip the door off?"

"Do I look like a Jedi Master, Jim? No." She nodded downward. "This is a skirt, babe ... I'm not wearing robes. Anyhow, I've almost got it."

"Are you trying to telekinetically turn the gears inside the vault door?"

"NO," Karla quipped. "Jesus. Shut up and watch." She tensed up.

The glowing beneath her skin intensified, causing the top of her blouse to incandesce from the glowing of glyphs beneath her breasts.

"Almost got it," she murmured. "Just a little more."

All at once, the massive door blew open on its hinges. The metal hatch wheel became imbedded in the wall.

Karla and James disappeared briefly. They reappeared fifteen feet back.

She put her hand out to steady him.

The Director appeared disoriented. He looked around, and then turned back toward the vault. "Did we just...?"

"Yeah. Just in case it exploded, I teleported us." She offered a wan smile, looking somewhat tired.

He patted himself down. "That is a little unsettling."

"You get used to it." She smoothed the hem of her skirt with her palms.

"How did you open it?"

"I was teleporting air from your HVAC system and filling the vault with more air. I was starting to wonder how much pressure that door could handle. Tough door for having been built in the 70's."

"Do you think that was a good idea? That much pressure in an enclosed space might have caused more harm than you intended."

She walked forward and stepped over the lip of the vault doorframe. "Oh my." She glanced around at crumpled metal file drawers built into the walls. "I guess the air pressure trick had its downside, huh?"

"Why not just use telekinesis to rip off the door?"

"It was stronger than my ability."

"So you have a limit to your ability?"

"Everyone has their limits. I just practice to develop mine. Problem is, the door was designed to withstand a nuke. The walls were apparently designed to withstand blasting or drilling."

Comey approached the doorway to the vault and peered inside. "What a waste."

"It was sealed. Blame whoever had it sealed, Jimmy-Jam." She approached a drawer on the left and reached for it. Her palm began to incandesce again.

The drawer rocketed out of the wall. It stopped mere inches from her palm. She peered into the crumpled drawer and smiled.

"What did you find?"

Karla leaned down, peering at the underside of the drawer. "Made in Sandusky, Ohio. I don't know what they made this thing from but it looks like the files survived." She leafed through paper files until coming to an old manila envelope marked 'Azazel & Keturah'.

"Wait just a minute, here." Karla quirked her brows, a look of incredulous curiosity marred her brows.

She flipped it open and glanced through a few pages of the file. Karla closed the folder and tucked it beneath her right arm. "This is quite a bit more revealing than I realized."

"How do you mean?"

Karla turned to James and said, "Clyde had information on my father. Those guys sure knew how to dig up dirt without computers."

"They were impressive investigators, considering their methods were archaic and outdated."

Karla dropped the file drawer on the cracked floor with a loud clang. "Winner-winner, chicken dinner. I got what I came for with an added bonus. I'll leave you alone, and I won't start any drama. All right? Just let me leave. Where's Johann?"

"I sent him home on my dime. He'll be safe from any mercenary attackers when he lands. I promise."

"Alright." She eyed Comey for a moment. Karla offered him a genuine smile. "You're not on my shit-list anymore, Jimbo."

"Please. Don't call me that."

The succubus offered a smirk. "Fine. Jimmy. James." Karla eyed him with a devious grin. "Just in case you change your mind and come after me, I want you to know I can be one mean bitch when I'm crossed ... I promise." She stepped back out of the vault and added, "Get that leak fixed. It's embarrassing to your agency. Besides, you don't want it to get into the vault."

"That leak has been a persistent problem on and off for over fifteen years."

"Well then it's about time you get a drainage solution or buy a Wet-Dry Vac from Home Depot."

James chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose that's one idea. I don't want to do this stuff by myself. I have an agency to run until my successor is appointed."

"Better cancel reservations to your retirement party. Something tells me the President is too busy to appoint anyone for the next few months."

"He was too busy in July, when I was supposed to retire. He was meeting with Specials that were involved in attacking your peers."

Karla eyed Comey. "Wait, there were Specials that helped eradicate the rest of their own kind?"

"We were told that your people were at war, and we were amassing a strike against Esoteric Terrorists. By the time the cabinet members found out that they were misled, and that a handful of leaders tricked us into wiping out their race, it was already too late."

"Jesus Christ," Karla quipped. "You didn't investigate their claims?"

"I was read into the attacks the night they took place."

Karla sighed through clenched teeth.

"Ms. Howard, are there more survivors than yourself and Johann Foster?"

"Yeah. I know a few. Why?"

"Would any of them have stepped in and killed anyone they thought might be responsible for the deaths of the Esoteric Community?"

"What exactly are you asking me, Comey?"

"Do you think a supernatural survivor might be responsible for the car wreck out there on Pennsylvania Avenue?"

"Probably not. I mean, anything is possible, but we certainly don't hold the President or the Government responsible. That blame goes to this geneticist guy named Aris Falcon. That's what we think so far."

"Do your people need protection?"

"From the Government? I can't imagine anyone would want to be involved with the Government right now." She licked her lips and cut her eyes to the Director. "And don't call them my people. They hated my guts. And now that most of them are dead, to hell with them."

"Do you have any problems with the survivors?"

"None that I've met just yet." Karla squinted, eyeing him. "Why do you ask?"

"Just being thorough. My agents aren't allowed to investigate. I'm one of only a handful of people with clearance to know that your kind exists."

"My kind? Heh. We're not some special genus, genius. The Esoteric Community just shared a common secret. We learned our lesson after three inquisitions. Or so I thought, since these last two weeks makes me wonder if we were too loud after all."

"The council has had a relationship with the United States Government for decades, Ms. Howard."

"Look, I don't want to talk about this crap, okay? I got my file. I'm headed back to my little corner of the country, now."

"Ms. Howard ... I don't know what it's like to be alone in the world, and to have to lie about your existence. I can't imagine it feels good, and I won't pretend to know what you're going through. But the least you can let me do is fly you back to California on my dime."

"I'm not trying to be tracked."

He shook his head. "Not the Bureau's money ... mine. It's not as traceable if I have a hand in the transaction."

Karla leered at him for a moment. "I'm not Martha Stewart."

"I never said you were."

"You're not putting me on house arrest, Jim. I'm going to ambush the people coming after me. The playground bullies can go after whoever they want. But if they come after me or those close to me, I will bury them so deep, people will question if they ever existed."

James nodded. "I know what it's like to be a victim, and to want justice. I found that out at a young age, back in 1977. The only thing I _can't_understand is ... why is it that you refuse to act like an adult?"

Karla blinked at him. "Say what?"

"I'm sixty-three. Mueller's file on you claimed you're several hundred years old. Why refuse to act like an adult?"

"Should I?"

"If you really are a succubus, then you perform adult activities."

She replied with a shrug and a wan smile. "You Roman Catholic boys, I swear."

"Roman Catholic of Irish Descent," he said with a grin. "Where'd you read that?"

"I read a lot. It only took a few minutes to read up on you before coming here and talking to ya'."

Comey chuckled. "I guess you missed the part where I used to help my wife teach a middle-school Sunday class for a United Methodist church."

"Oh." Karla shrugged. "Whatever. You're religious. Why are you helping a demoness?"

"I was appointed to uphold the constitution. You have freedom of religion. If you want to worship Satan, that's your issue. As an American, you are protected by the Bill of Rights."

Karla scoffed. "If Satan is real, I've not seen him. But if I die in this mess, when I arrive in Hell, I'm going to march right up to the old goat, plop down on his lap, and say, 'Honey, I'm home! What's the effing Wi-Fi password?'" She paused with a grin. "By the way, I predate America. I was born in Wales in 1599, and came to America in 1632. I guess that means I'm not an American citizen. You're not going to call ICE are you?"

"Ms. Howard, if you're really that old, then you have more right to call yourself an American than anyone I know. You were here for the founding of this country, and that makes you an American."

Karla clenched her jaw. The corner of her lips twitched. "Anyhow, you never really answered my question earlier. Why are you suddenly being nice to me?"

The Director frowned. "The case is out of my hands and there's a political scandal involved in covering things up. That leaves a foul taste in my mouth, so to speak. I was only being short with you in the past because I didn't believe in any of this 'supernatural' stuff. I saw it in writing; I just ... never believed it."

"And now?"

James chuckled in spite of himself. "I guess, well, you could say it's humbling. You can rip a vault open that was sealed shut for decades. That's both impressive and scary." He folded his arms.

"Eh. I suppose. I used to be a hubristic bitch, once."

"Then what happened?"

"Then I got better." She shrugged. "I met a man who could throw lightning, and was friends with demigods. I guess you could say it was humbling."

"I ... see." He side-nodded towards the vault. "Is this how you get what you want in life? You just take it? That's why I put Martha Stewart in jail when it comes down to it ... since you're the one who brought her up."

"Yes, but unlike Stewart, I never lied about anything."

"Which is why you still have my respect, Ms. Howard. But you can't just walk in and rip vault doors off their hinges, either."

With a giggle, Karla reached for his left hand. "Fair enough but, honey, my usual method would make you turn all fifty shades of Crayola Red." She ran her thumb over his wedding ring, "But there is a realistic possibility that my charms wouldn't work on you. At least, if you really love Patrice, that is."

Director Comey appeared unfazed by her flirting.

Karla smiled. "Good for you. You must be one of those men that really loves his wife. Good for you. Now you know why I resorted to ripping the vault open."

"I'm proud of being a family man, but that doesn't excuse you from ripping this vault open as your 'plan B.'"

"Are you going to arrest me now?"

"For what?" he asked. "The vault doesn't exist and neither do you."

Karla grinned. "Touché." She glanced at her cellphone, which didn't get any signal in the lowest sublevel of the building. "I've got to go. Be seeing you, Jim. Thanks for goin' all Deep Throat and giving me the inside scoop. I know it doesn't mean much coming from _me _but I really think you did the right thing, here."

Comey nodded towards the sublevel stairs. "You can't leave this building the way you came in. You don't need to be spotted in the same place as what's happening across the street. You don't want their deaths pinned on you."

"So ... if I'm seen leaving this building what's going to happen to me?"

"Let's just not find out. Thank you for opening the vault. I guess I have my work cut out for me now that it's finally open. I'll take you up to the lower-level parking garage, then I'll have someone take you to Reagan. I'm not sure if you'll catch the same plane as Mister Foster. I like that kid - I don't think he's interested in doing things your way."

Karla smirked. "I've got a good feeling about that boy. He'll come around. And when he does, he gets to be on my supernatural kickball team."

"Before you go - how did you plan to utilize him as your escape plan?"

Karla grinned. "I was going to use him to turn on the sprinklers and turn all the water to ice. Then I was going to teleport us out of the building. Daring escape, I know. Thanks for not being a dick - Johann would never have forgiven me if I had him block up your hallways."

"Like I said ... I like that kid."

The succubus offered a wan smile. "Yeah. He's all right. Still, I don't know if you're one of the good guys, but ... thanks." She eyed him carefully. "Something tells me you're probably a really good dad."

"Why would you say that?"

"You seem like the kind of guy that would be great with children. Patrice is a lucky girl. Let's go, I apparently have a plane to catch. Not that it matters, but I really don't care for flying. I usually teleport myself around town, but I hate being confined in a plane with a bunch of people."

"You flew here."

"Yeah, I just hate flying. But I refuse to let it stop me from doing it."

"Alright. Fair enough. Follow me and I'll get you out of here, Ms. Howard. United has nonstop flights from DC to San Francisco. The sooner I get you home, the better I'll feel."

"Heh. I better not read about you being assassinated in the paper, Jim. I'm starting to like you."

"I'm retiring soon. I plan to avoid this mess and lay low. Come on, this way." He headed back through the ankle-deep flooded room. "Keep an eye on Mr. Foster when you get back to California. I have good agents receiving him at the airport, but I can't allocate resources to watch you two for very long, else it will draw attention to the fact you two are still alive."

Karla nodded. "Fair enough." She followed him out of the sublevel. "Y'know, today is the International Day of Democracy?"

"You like saying things at random, don't you?"

Karla smiled.

X

X

September 15, 6:10pm PDT San Francisco, California ...

** "Johann Foster?"** The voice belonged to one of two men wearing ties, but no blazers.

Johann licked his lips. "Uh ... yeah. You must be the G-men, huh?"

"Come with us," said the one on the left. He pulled his cellphone out and thumbed the speed dial on his phone. A moment later, he said, "This is Michener. We have Foster at the airport. What're our instructions?" A few seconds later, he ended the call and put the phone into his pocket.

"So, uh ... now what?"

Agent Michener side-nodded in gesture. "We wait to hear back while our office contacts the DC field office."

Johann fell into step with the two agents. "Oh. That's uh..." Johann licked his lips and shrugged. "Neat."

They walked through the airport and crossed over to the parking garage.

Johann looked around. "Wouldn't you guys just park right up in front for a quick getaway?"

"This isn't the movies kid," said Michener. "It's better to keep the Suburban far away from the public, just in case. If you're worried about anything else, don't. We have a car in the arrival ring and two other agents in strategic locations for your safety."

"Actually," Johann chuckled inwardly. "That is comforting to hear, to be honest. So, why the long walk? To draw out any possible pursuers?" His question went unanswered.

They continued to the far end of the parking garage. There were very few vehicles in the area.

At the back corner was a black Chevy SUV.

Johann sighed in relief. "I can't wait to finish up a few loose ends and get home to Chicago."

Michener put his hand on Johann's chest and stopped him.

The other agent withdrew his handgun.

"What's going on?" asked Johann, eyes wide and suddenly alert.

"Our driver isn't in the SUV," said the man with the pistol.

Michener brought a finger to his ear and spoke into a satellite microphone in his left sleeve. "Randall, where are you?" He paused and pursed his lips.

No response.

Michener sighed through his nose. "Ames, Weathers, I don't have a visual on Randall; he's not answering."

The radio silence appeared to upset Michener. He furrowed his brows with a look of consternation.

The second agent said, "I'm hearing you on my earpiece, Mitch. Radio's good."

Michener grimaced. "Team, sit-rep."

Silence.

Michener drew his weapon and took a defensive posture, facing away from his partner. "Well, Bill, this is what you get for saying this was going to be an easy day away from the desk. You jinxed us."

"Hey, now ... how was I supposed to know?" Bill pointed his weapon back towards the airport. "Kid, the attacks you've witnessed - how many mercenaries were in the typical attack squad?"

"Usually between four and six," Johann murmured. "Depends on who they're hunting. You guys are armed and trained. They might consider you more of a threat." Johann patted his pockets, searching for his Lorazepam.

"Mitch, let's make a break for the..." Bill dropped to the concrete, twitching. His gun clattered across the concrete.

Michener glanced back and saw Bill's headshot wound.

Johann turned and saw Bill's body strewn across the concrete. The dead agent's fingers moved in an off-cadence rhythm, as if playing a piano. Johann tried to swallow but his throat felt too tight.

Mitch wrapped his left arm around Johann's shoulders and hurried them towards the SUV, "Go, kid! Stay down!"

"Shit!" Johann hissed in fear. Everything faded away as he made a mad dash towards the black Suburban.

Johann dropped down to his knees, close to the back door. His head lowered and his eyes widened, seeing blood on his sleeve. "That's ... not ... spray."

Johann winced. He pushed his sleeve up, followed by a moue of disgust. "I ... I've been shot." He blinked in confusion, seeing the flesh wound. "It feels hot." He swallowed. The tightness in his throat went away. "It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would."

Michener glanced back at Johann and the blood on the boy's left arm. "Adrenaline, kid." The agent checked the SUV's driver door.

Agent Randall's body spilled out of the driver's seat, half-suspended by the seatbelt.

Michener flinched "Christ." He reached up over the dead body, unclasped the belt and pulled the motionless man from the chair, somewhat. He grimaced at a horrible smell. "God."

Johann inhaled and frowned. "That's the scent of defecation. I have some experience with autopsies." He stared at the body. Johann glanced out across the parking deck at the agent named Bill, whose fingers continued to twitch.

Johann swallowed. "And now my crippling fear and anxiety of dying is at terror level orange."

Michener brought Randall down all the way to the concrete and dragged the body to the rear door. With a grunt, Mitch shoved the body up over one of the back seats. "Stay down, Foster."

Johann brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm going to end up like my father - in a shallow grave of supernatural bodies. The house is a mess."

Michener glanced around then made a beeline sprint towards the other agent's body. He put fingers on Bill's throat, paused, and glanced around. After a few seconds, he took Bill's right arm and pulled the man's body up over his shoulder.

Agent Michener lifted his dead partner and carried him quickly back to the car. He shoved the body into the backdoor, overtop of Randall.

Johann rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself. "The house is a mess. All bad behaviors or manners are reflections on the parenting skills of their mothers. People are going to think my messy house means my mother didn't raise me right. Maybe it's a reflection of my mental state."

"Kid, snap out of it."

"Someone's going to steal all my D&D stuff. I have collectable..."

Michener grabbed Johann's uninjured arm. "Get up in the driver's seat, stay low, and climb over to the passenger side. Get down on the floor, facing the seat and stay low kid."

"I ... that was a lot at once. I'm sorry; I didn't understand all those instructions. I'm just..."

"Climb over to the floor! Passenger side! GO!"

Johann nodded and moved towards the driver door.

A thumping sound rang out.

Johann paused and swallowed. He glanced over and saw a fresh bullet hole on the door, just beneath the door handle.

Johann dove back away and crawled beneath the SUV. "I'm the goddamn target!"

"Dammit. Okay, kid. Stay under there."

"Sir!" Johann pointed up at Michener's neck, where a red dot illuminated the agent's skin. "Down!"

Michener flinched at the sensation of a pinch. He brought his hand up to his throat and felt the skin, expecting to feel wetness. He pulled his hand back and looked at his palm. "...Broken glass?" The agent blinked. "What the hell?" He looked up at the driver door, but the glass panel was still intact.

An old primer-grey BMW came around the corner quickly.

Michener glanced at it and narrowed his eyes. He pointed his weapon towards the approaching vehicle. "Stay down, kid."

"God this burns," Johann muttered in disdain, favoring his upper arm.

The BMW veered to the left, away from the SUV in the far right corner of the parking garage. It came to a sudden stop.

A scrawny black boy, no older than Johann, got out of the BMW. He wore a t-shirt with a fancy handmade logo on the front. "I'll cover you two, get in the truck!" said the boy, pointing to the SUV.

Michener shouted "Are you nuts, kid?!" He lifted his weapon, pointing it away from the black kid. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"Yeah?" asked the young man. "How much did it suck to get shot in the neck just now? Not all that bad, right?"

Michener blinked.

"Now get in the truck while I hold them off!" He flinched at the sensation of a brief sting above his right eye. He reached up and touched his forehead. "I'm Evan, by the way." He blinked rapidly and swept glass dust off of his forehead. "That one kinda' hurt. Geeze."

"Kid, they're shooting at us, get the hell out of here!"

"Hey!" Evan turned back to Michener and pointed to the SUV. "Get your butts in there." He backed away from the BMW and stood in front of the SUV.

"Jesus Christ," Michener snapped.

Evan put his left hand on the driver's side window. He reached over to the glass pane on the left rear door and touched it for a moment.

"What are you doing?!"

Evan ignored the agent. He walked back around to the passenger side and touched each window. Evan came back around and said, "What are you waiting for? Christmas? Get in the truck!"

Johann came out from beneath the SUV, climbed in through the driver door, and over the center console.

A clap of noise caused all three to recoil.

Michener looked up and saw a round mark on the driver-door glass. "What are they shooting with? A twenty-two?" He glanced back at Bill's forehead in the backseat of the SUV. "They're using high caliber rounds! That window should have shattered."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Evan said. "I'll explain later. You're one of the good guys right?"

"Philip Michener, FBI," he said. Mitch looked around. He held his weapon at the ready and crept back towards the open driver side door.

"Evan B.," he replied, "glass blower from the Haight. I'll follow you out of here. Just move it before they try to flank us with..."

Screeching tires caused the trio to glance up.

A silver cargo van came around the corner at a high rate of speed. It slammed on the brakes and cut left. The passenger-side rolling-door opened. A group of men in black paramilitary gear poured out of the van, armed with submachine guns.

Evan made a sour face. "Shazbot."

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Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/532288