Bad Ending (Agent Juliet Book 5) Page 6

  “Fox, Bravo, you’re with me,” Whiskey said. “Mike—”

  “Way ahead of you.” Mike came over, helped me off of Nurse Regina, and propped me up against the wall. “Okay, Juliet, time for the stupid questions. Can you tell me where you are?”

  Bravo, Fox, and Whiskey jogged past, back toward the operating room. Whiskey put her rifle to the head of one guy who was still kicking and pulled the trigger. Bravo did another.

  “Juliet?” Mike snapped his fingers in my face. “Can you hear me?”

  Dr. White staggered into the hallway, leading one of her attack-dog prefab soldiers.

  “Whiskey, three o’clock,” I yelled.

  Whiskey spun around. Dr. White pointed and yelled something, but the prefab didn’t get his rifle up before Whiskey dropped him. She covered Dr. White, but didn’t shoot.

  “Kill her,” I yelled.

  “Hands up,” Whiskey ordered.

  The alarms stopped. The lights clicked back on.

  “Dr. Patricia White, you are being detained,” Whiskey said. “Get your hands up or I will be forced to open fire.”

  Dr. White raised her hands.

  “Shoot her.” My voice cracked. “Somebody shoot that bitch or give me the fucking gun.”

  No one shot her and no one gave me a gun.

  “She killed Romeo,” I said.

  Bravo put his rifle to his shoulder.

  “Stand down,” Whiskey said. She didn’t take her sights off Dr. White. “It’s out, Juliet. The whole story. The government needs someone to take the fall and they picked her. Bravo, cuffs.”

  Bravo let his rifle hang on the strap and pulled a pair of flex-cuffs off his belt.

  “That’s bullshit,” I yelled. “Fuck!”

  I must’ve been crying because Nurse Regina pulled my head down onto her shoulder and started rubbing my back.

  “If I go down, I’ll take the whole damned defense department with me,” Dr. White said.

  Bravo jerked her hands behind her and slammed her face-first into the wall.

  “Lady, I don’t think you get how the government works,” he said. “They started cutting you loose the second CNN broke the news.”

  *****

  I spent the next six days in the hospital, in and out of surgery, always under heavy guard. Wes had sent a security team—Fox called it a gesture of ingratiation—but Whiskey told them to fuck off. They half-listened to her, guarding the hall outside my room. Fox, Mike, and Bravo took shifts keeping an eye on me. Whiskey stayed with the girls and Harris, who had been flown out on the taxpayers’ dime for depositions and a bunch of other legal stuff I cared fuck-all about.

  When I wasn’t too spaced out on painkillers, I got the rest of the story from the news reports.

  Instead of staying in hiding after I left, Harris had made it until late afternoon before she couldn’t take any more sitting around doing nothing. She had rounded up everybody she knew for protection and driven the girls to the TV station in Little Rock for a press conference. They kept showing shots of the crowd Harris brought with her—cops, bikers, the state militia, Hunters for Jesus, local chapters of the NRA, Sons of the Confederacy, a few groups I didn’t recognize, and pretty much everybody from around Ouachita Hollow. “An outpouring of support” was what the reporter kept saying.

  Harris told them everything I had told her, even the KiloT-4 stuff, but she made it sound a lot more professional. To prove the story was true, Della jammed a fillet knife into her stomach and wiggled it around. The networks loved that clip. Every time I turned the TV on, they were playing it, spliced with different doctors and scientists examining her and Eva and giving their opinions.

  At the end of the conference, Harris had explained how Dr. White was holding someone hostage in exchange for the girls. Then she asked for someone to please help me recover the hostage and get us both home safe.

  The government tripped all over itself responding. The news channels ran the speeches and interviews pretty much twenty-four-seven. Politicians demanded answers and reform. Directors from different agencies blamed people lower on the totem pole for letting someone like Dr. White fly under the radar so long. Wes even gave a statement about how the CIA would “immediately enact stricter regulations on and monitoring of all subcontractors” to make sure nothing like this could ever happen again.

  When they ran something about me, it was all fairy tale bullshit. This guy just wanted to protect his family. The big, bad government shadow agency tried to take advantage of this guy, but he fought back. This guy is like you, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done in the same situation.

  None of the channels said anything about Romeo or how I let Dr. White kill her.

  *****

  Whiskey came by on the last day I was in the hospital. When she showed up, Bravo was kicked back on the bed reading a magazine about custom choppers, and I was packing my shit into a plastic hospital bag.

  “I’ll take your watch, Bravo,” she said.

  He got up and stuck the magazine in his back pocket. “Stop by the garage sometime before you leave the city.”

  “Yeah, I will,” I said.

  Bravo gave Whiskey a wave and left.

  I didn’t want her to get the first question in because I knew what she would ask, so I started talking before the door finished swinging shut.

  “Where’s Della and Eva?”

  “Today is their deposition,” Whiskey said. “They were still waiting for the children’s advocate when I left.”

  I went back to packing. With all the damage to my left arm and hand, I couldn’t fold anything, so I just wadded up my clothes and shoved them into the bag.

  “How long do you think that’ll take?” I asked.

  “Depends,” she said. “The deposition itself will take a few hours at least.”

  “I had to talk to some lawyers the other day,” I said. “Took forever.”

  “Mike said you didn’t want to meet with them.”

  I shrugged.

  “You do understand that you’re not being charged with anything?” Whiskey asked.

  “The owners of the vehicles and credit cards I stole aren’t pressing charges because of some bullshit story they heard on the news,” I said. “And because they’ll probably get some kind of settlement from Dr. White’s estate and NOC-Unit, as reparations or damages or— I don’t know. I understand I’m not being charged with anything.”

  I went over to the sink and started putting toiletries in the bag.

  “You’re being released today?” Whiskey asked.

  “If that nurse ever gets back with the fucking paperwork.”

  “What about that?” She pointed at the metal pins and rods holding my arm together.

  “I’m supposed to go to regular checkups with a specialist in Little Rock,” I said. “But probably a few months and they’ll take it off.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. A little déjà vu hanging out with you in a hospital.” I stopped packing for a second. “Actually, good. See?”

  I held up my hand and tried to make a fist. My index finger twitched.

  Whiskey just stared at me.

  “Trigger finger,” I said. “The doctor figures with physical therapy, I can probably get full range of motion back. He thought the others might start to move a little bit, too, if I keep trying.”

  She didn’t say anything to that.

  I gave the room a once-over to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner,” Whiskey said.

  “Wasn’t your fault,” I said.

  During one of his shifts, Fox had explained to me how hard it was to fly an unidentified commercial airliner in the US without drawing attention. They’d been picked up by F/A18s ten minutes after takeoff. The jets forced them down in Connecticut, where they were detained on suspicion of terrorism and separated for questioning. None of them even realized the terrorism stuff was bullshit until they were rele
ased the next day without Romeo. By the time Bravo found them and told them about Harris’s press conference, it was too late.

  “It wasn’t your fault, either,” Whiskey said.

  I checked the clock. “You think that nurse went on her lunch break?”

  Whiskey watched me for a few seconds, then nodded. She sat down in the rolling recliner chair and crossed her legs.

  “We should probably get comfortable,” she said.

  I didn’t feel like sitting. I leaned my hip against the sink.

  “NOC-Unit’s shutting down?” I asked. “Dissolutioning. Whatever.”

  “It’s being disbanded,” she said.

  “What will you do for work?”

  Whiskey shrugged.

  “You know Bravo was already doing some moonlighting for a private sector group?” I asked. “Bone Squad. One of his friends runs it, but Bravo’s a partner, I guess.”

  Whiskey nodded. “We coordinated with them for the rescue.”

  “Bravo wanted me to think about joining,” I said.

  “Are you going to?” Whiskey asked.

  “Shit. I’m the worst operative on the planet. Anyway, I got the girls to worry about. I want them to have a halfway normal life.”

  “That probably won’t happen,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking about Della kicking that prefab’s face in. “Probably not.”

  We sat there not talking while the news recapped everything again with a bunch of new opinions from different people. After a few minutes, I got up and shut the TV off.

  “Sometimes it makes my ears ring,” I said.

  Whiskey nodded.

  “All they do is talk,” I said. “All day long.”

  She nodded again.

  “None of this shit even really affects them,” I said. “It doesn’t change anything in any of their lives.”

  “No,” she said. “It doesn’t.”

  I swiped my bag off the bed and launched it at the wall. Whiskey didn’t even blink.

  “I’m sorry about Romeo,” she said again.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands.

  “Sometimes I think I’m going deaf my ears ring so bad,” I said.

  Whiskey came around the bed and sat next to me.

  “You’re not,” she said. “They’ll stop.”

  *****

  Eight months later

  I put the truck in park out in front of the school.

  “A’ight,” I said, leaning over to give Della and Eva both a kiss. “Y’all be good.”

  “Like, duh,” Della said. That was her new thing and it was annoying as shit.

  Eva still wasn’t talking—she hadn’t said anything to me since the night I had to cut out her tracking chip—but she did give me a hug. I think because she was nervous about her first day of preschool. Hell, I was, too. Seven whole hours I wouldn’t be with them. I wouldn’t even be within yelling distance.

  “It’ll be okay,” I told Eva. The good thing about Ouachita Hollow being so small was that the preschool, grade school, and high school were all one building. “Della’ll be right down the hall in the kindergarten room.”

  Eva considered that, then hopped out and grabbed Della’s hand. She hesitated when the principal waved at her, but Della kept walking, so she kept going, too. Just before they went through the doors, Eva looked over her shoulder at me. I tried to smile like I meant it.

  As soon as the girls disappeared inside, I dropped the truck into gear and headed out, working my left hand. I could still only move my index finger, but the surgeon had been right about getting a full range of motion back. Once it was warmed up, I could curl it all the way into my palm.

  The drive to the trailhead took three and a half minutes. Parking, getting my gear out of the back, and the run and climb up the bluff took another sixteen.

  I pulled the M107 sniper rifle out of my pack. Flipped down the feet. Lay on my stomach, took the caps off the scope, and found the school. Adjusted the angle for wind, distance, and temperature.

  I checked my watch. Almost twenty-four minutes. Pretty shitty, even for a first day. In that much time, anything could’ve happened.

  I followed the perimeter of the school building with the scope, looking for signs of trouble. One of the janitors was weed eating around the playground equipment. The last bus pulled away from the high school entrance. Kids were still going inside, talking to each other. After a while, the elementary secretary stepped out for a cigarette. I relaxed a little bit. I hadn’t missed anything.

  Maybe after the first few days of class, I could convince Eva that riding the bus wasn’t such a big deal. Then I could already be in place and set up by the time they made it to school.

  It was a nice morning. Cloudless, cool enough that you knew fall was coming, and a low breeze. It would be hot as hell by noon and there wasn’t any tree cover up on the bluff, but I had brought plenty of water. Once school let out—assuming nothing bad happened—maybe me and the girls could go swimming.

  THE END

  Did you like Bad Ending?

  Now you can get the full run of Jamie’s adventures in Bad Ops (The Agent Juliet Box Set) for 40% off.

  Or, if you have commitment issues, you can get the Agent Juliet series one at a time:

  Bad Decisions

  Bad Influences

  Bad Environment

  Bad Reputation

  Bad Ending

  And if you really, really liked or really, really hated Bad Ending, then you should consider leaving a review on Amazon so that the author knows what he’s doing wrong (or right).

  A Note from the Author

  Thanks for sticking with Jamie and me to the end. I hope you had a good time, but I know if I had just finished reading Bad Ops, I would think the writer had forgotten about the ghost sniper who shot Gerald Trent at the BLA compound and the traitor who sold out Bravo’s detachment and turned over Dr. White’s research. Don’t worry. Bravo and Trick will be back in Bone Squad (coming in 2014) to tie up loose ends.

  While we’re still here, though, I need to thank Jesus, DJ Bodden, Kensey Stedman, Ronny Khuri, and my gorgeous babymama Jal. This series wouldn’t have been possible without their love, support, and editing.

  And obviously there wouldn’t be any point to writing without readers. So, thanks again, y’all. I really do appreciate it.

  - Mason

  About the Author

  E. M. Smith is the kind of guy who puts his initials on his covers to seem professional, but continues to act like a completely unprofessional hick everywhere else. You can call him Mason if you want to.

  If you just can’t get enough Mason in your life, you can hang out with him over on Twitter at @masondixonsmith, drop him a line at masondixonsmith@gmail.com, or give him a holler when you see him down at the Wal-Marts. And if you’ve got the time, consider leaving a review somewhere so he knows what he’s doing wrong (or right).