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As Trooper Wallace waited for the ambulance, he was talking to the injured man. The guy was pretty groggy, in shock perhaps. Wallace had checked as best as he could for any other wounds, but hadn't seen anything. He had managed to get his flashlight on the driver's feet, no blood that he could see, but the guy's left foot was bent under the crushed in door.
"Dispatch, Wallace."
"Go ahead."
"You sent the fire department guys right, not the regular ambulance services?"
"Roger that, Trooper Wallace."
"Definitely going to need to pry this guy out of the wreckage, he's pinned good."
"Copy, they should be at your location in less than five."
"Copy."
Wallace was concerned, he'd covered Simmons' body with a tarp and had flares set out. As he looked up the road, he thought he saw headlights.
"Must be the ambulance," he said to himself.
"Hey, trooper! Trooper!"
Wallace turned towards the wrecked sedan, the driver was conscious again.
"Sir, you need to stay calm, help is minutes out, I can see the ambulance ..."
"Got to ... God, that hurts ... Contact the Bureau, let them ... tell them ..." Johansen passed out again.
Poor bastard, probably has a concussion, Wallace thought. What's this business about a "bureau," what bureau?
Proctor snapped at the security guy, "Do something, Holmes. What do I pay you for?"
Jason Howard grimaced as he drew his sidearm. This clown he worked for didn't bother learning anybody's name, but he had more serious things on his plate at the moment other than the fact that he was working for an asshole.
Howard made himself as small as he could, sliding backwards into the shadows near the door to the bathroom. He could hear movement downstairs. Then he heard a soft "creak" on the staircase, they were coming upstairs. Slowly Howard dropped to one knee and aimed at the top of the stairway.
Proctor heard someone outside his door, had to be that damned security guy. He marched over and flung the door open.
"What the ... Who the hell are you?"
A man dressed completely in gray, even his face was covered with a gray ski mask, turned towards Proctor, leveling his weapon as he did so. He hadn't seen the other man down the hallway.
Howard was startled when the door to the home office had been thrown open, there was no other lighting in the house now except the ambient light from nearby streetlights. But when the figure cloaked in dark clothing spun towards the man he was paid to protect, Howard didn't hesitate. He aimed at center of mass and fired.
Yuri Poroshenko gasped as the 10 mm slug ripped into his torso just under his armpit. He tried to aim his own weapon at the man he'd been sent to kill, but the bulbous silencer seemed to make the weapon absurdly heavy. Poroshenko didn't realize that his body was shutting down. He was dying.
Yevgeni Nowakowski was startled, both at the door being flung open, a man shouting in English, then a shot coming out of the darkness from further down the hallway which had apparently killed Yuri. Nowakowski turned on his heel and ran out of the house. They hadn't paid him enough to deal with getting shot at!
As the big government SUV headed down out of the Green Ridge State Park, Aspinall couldn't resist asking Secretary Nakagawa a question. "So Sir, why use Russians?"
Nakagawa thought for a moment, "Wasn't my idea, but SecDef pointed out that there were a lot of unemployed Russian Special Forces guys available after the Russo-Ukraine War ended. They were good, and willing to work fairly cheaply. Also, they wouldn't ask questions or care about the law. I didn't like it, but the idea had merit. As SecDef is running the show, we all acquiesced."
Aspinall's satellite phone buzzed, he answered it then handed it to the Secretary, "It's for you, Sir."
"Nakagawa."
The Secretary listened then muttered one word, "sh*t."
"Change in plans, Bill. Head for theDepartment of Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Martinsburg, West Virginia. Proctor survived the attack. Sec Def is setting up shop at Raven Rock, he wants me in West Virginia."
Aspinall shook his head, "Shoulda used Americans, Mr. Secretary."
Nakagawa shot him a look, "No sh*t."
The firemen were extricating Johansen from the wreckage of his rental car, another ambulance was loading Simmons' body to take it to the coroner. The rain was falling, it wasn't heavy, but a thick fog had settled into the area.
"Paul, we really should helo this guy out, his hip is a mess, he's probably going to lose that left foot, maybe even the arm. But in this fog ...?" the firefighter shrugged.
Wallace nodded, "Are you taking him to UPMC?¹"
Delbert Finch nodded, "It's this guy's only shot."
"I'll follow you. Something about this is odd, I need to figure out what."
"Paul, it's a drunk driver case, no more."
"Then tell me Del, every time the guy wakes up, he's muttering something about a bureau."
Finch's eyebrows went way up, "A bureau, or The Bureau?"
Then it struck Wallace, what if the guy meant the FBI?
One of the other firefighters shouted over, "Okay, he's out, come on Del, we gotta move or it's gonna be touch and go."
"See you in Cumberland?" Del shouted over his shoulder as he ran to the ambulance.
"Count on it."
As Wallace walked back to his vehicle, it struck him again. A big shot from headquarters visiting Cumberland, some random guy, obviously beaten before being arrested, being held incommunicado. Was this connected to that?
Damn.
¹ University of Pittsburg Medical Center
