She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) (4 page)

:: Begin Encoded Message ::

H.E.N.A.

L4c1t2 D2vl3n McC4nn2ll6 1nd 3mm4b3l3z2 H3m

3s4l1t2 th2 wh2r21b45ts 4f D2vl3n McC4nn2ll6.  H2 h1s
pr4c5r2d f5nds thr45gh th2ft 1nd d2c2pt34n; w2 w1nt t4 k22p th2s2 f5nds 1ct3v2
t4 tr1ck h3m 21s32r.  F5rth2r, h2 h1s 1n 1nx32t6 d3s4rd2r th1t c15s2s h3m t4
sp4nt1n245sl6 g4 45t sh4pp3ng.  B2 4n th2 l44k45t f4r br1nds l3k2 1rm1n3, 1nd
4th2r l5x5r6 cl4th3ng 4r j2w2lr6 st4r2s.  W2 1r2 tr1ck3ng 1ll p5rch1s2s.  D4
n4t 1ttr1ct th2 1tt2nt34n 4f l4c1l 15th4r3t32s.

Maxwell Out

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            Devlin jogs steadily next to the traffic during
the heavy Chicago rush hour.  Gloria follows closely behind as he looks to
procure a new vehicle after having to dump the Escalade.  His hands are tense
as he traverses across American soil, preparing to commit another crime, adding
to the list of necessary deeds this week, including other thefts.  With only
six hours left in the twelve-hour deadline, he elected to ditch the hotel room,
abandoning everything except for his clothing and the letter; not wanting to
leave any breadcrumbs for the CIA.  He located a duplex for rent in the newspaper,
but the owner insisted on meeting today, which means procuring a car to make
the appointment on time, and safely transporting the dog.  His breathing is
uneasy as he looks from car to car like an ancient predator of the Midwest. 

            In his black jacket and dress pants, he can move
rather stealthy, pretending to be a casual jogger.  Soon he sees what he is
looking for; a man in his early forties, out of shape, and by himself in a
pickup truck.  Devlin sets his sights on the large, blue F-150, and moves
around closer to the driver side window.  The vehicle is creeping through
traffic slowly, which will make it an easy target.  His right hand darts out and
grabs underneath the driver-side door handle.  As soon as he touches the
handle, a tiny head pops up next to the driver.  Devlin’s eyes widen as he
realizes the man has his daughter with him.  He releases the handle and starts
to jog faster, moving expediently away to avoid any backlash.

            “What the fuck do you want!?” The man screams
toward Devlin as he rolls down his window a bit.  “Were you trying to steal my
truck, asshole!?”

             Devlin pretends that nothing happened and
quickens his pace.  He enjoys getting his heart rate up to ease his anxiety. 
His eyes begin to seek out other vehicles to potentially carjack, looking for
men who are traveling alone; old enough to avoid a fight, but young enough not
to have a heart attack if things become violent.  There are a few good
prospects, but each of them is wearing a seatbelt; not ideal for a carjacking. 
He looks back to see Gloria trotting faithfully behind him.  Devlin laughs to
himself when he sees her cheerful expression; the dog would chalk this up as an
adventure regardless of his crimes. 

            After another fifty yards, he approaches a
silver sports car that is driven by a small man in his early thirties. 
Although this man is a bit young, Devlin has no choice but to get off the
street before sundown.  He quickens his pace, catching up with the Hyundai
Genesis, still pretending to jog and mind his own business.  The cars are
moving a bit faster through traffic now, which forces him to jog harder, almost
sprinting to keep up.         

            When he is finally in position next to the
silver sports car, Devlin rapidly grabs the door handle and yanks upward,
opening the door while the car is still rolling.  As expected, the driver hits
his brakes, coming to a complete stop.  Devlin reaches over the man’s chest to
grab him by the shoulder and roll him out of the vehicle.  When his hand
touches the soft fabric of the man’s white dress shirt, Devlin feels a sharp
pain in his throat as the driver delivers a swift jab to his windpipe.

            The jab is fierce and precise, leaving Devlin
choking and a bit disoriented.  He begins to back away, protecting his face out
of instinct, looking down in bewilderment at the driver, a man with short,
brown hair and pale, blue eyes.  The man has a firm body and veins poking out
of his neck from hours of intensive exercise.  As Devlin catches his breath,
the driver rises up out of the car, his face bearing the stare of a fighter. 
He is dressed in business formal attire with a starched white shirt, black
slacks, and a black snakeskin belt.  

            The man moves toward Devlin with the fierceness
of a scorned warrior.  Devlin raises his hands in a protective boxing stance,
using his military training.  The small man turns sideways as he approaches
closer and kicks with his left leg toward Devlin’s abdomen.  When Devlin moves
his hands to protect his abdomen, the man stops short with his kick, snaps his
leg against the back of his thigh, and uses the momentum to kick Devlin hard in
the face.  The instant pain from the side of a foot impacting his face catches
Devlin unaware.  He spins slightly with the momentum of the kick, and then
drops to the sidewalk on his chest.  As he falls to the hard cement, his right
thumb gets twisted backward too far under his weight.  Devlin rolls onto his
side to avoid dislocating his thumb.  The man continues to advance, approaching
with anger and a cool confidence; the look of someone who trains to fight on a
daily basis. 

            Devlin peers up in disbelief, wondering if this
man works for the agency, but soon realizes he was lucky enough to find the one
pissed off black belt in rush hour traffic.  Once the man is within a few feet
of his body, Devlin sweeps quickly with his right foot, trying to knock his
opponent over and provide an opportunity for escape.  The small man reacts
instantly, pivoting his body upright, he uses his right foot to kick Devlin’s
shin, forcing his leg back, and blocking the sweep. 

            On the sidewalk Devlin winces in fresh pain as
his shin begins to sting and throb simultaneously.  He reaches down immediately
to protect his injured leg, but the man anticipates his reaction, and comes
down at full force with a heavy punch to his right cheek.  Devlin rolls over on
his back, feeling like he has been clubbed in the face by a gorilla. 

            The short man immediately gets back into an
upright position, kneeling next to Devlin on the sidewalk.  He then twists his
body left, and swings back to the right, bringing his right elbow down on
Devlin’s mouth at the end of his spin. 

            Devlin’s head smacks into the sidewalk with a
hollow thud, and he feels a tooth break loose on the top left side of his jaw. 
He closes his eyes, grabbing his forehead, and feels blood seeping from his
mouth.  There is a tremendous throbbing all through his skull as he tries to
recover.  In his dazed state, he realizes that this man could easily kill him. 
His heart is pounding rapidly with adrenaline, and for some reason the man’s
white shirt suddenly gives him an idea.  Devlin swishes around in his mouth and
spits blood on the young businessman’s shirt and face. 

            His attacker instantly backs off, looking at the
blood on his body with horror.  He frantically begins to wipe it from his face,
taking another few steps backward in the process. 

            “You’re infected now!” Devlin shouts at the man
through gritted teeth. 

            The powerful, Tae Kwon Do instructor now bears a
look of shock and dystopian mortality.  He glances down at the blood again, and
then raises his head to stare in awe at Devlin.

            “What do you have!?”  The man asks with elevated
concern.  

            “Get the fuck out of here before I have you
arrested!”  Devlin bluffs with an authoritative voice.

            “You tried to steal my car!” The man says with
frustration, wiping the rest of the blood from his face with his inner
shirtsleeve.

            “Is that the same story they’re going to tell?”
Devlin asks, gesturing to a crowd of people who are watching the fight less
than twenty-yards away.  “Most of them only saw the part where you were beating
on me; I can easily have you tossed in jail.”

            The man looks down at the blood on his shirt
with horrified eyes, and he wastes no time in bolting straight for his car,
nearly tripping over himself as he goes.  Once he enters the vehicle, he forces
the sleek sports car through rush hour traffic, cutting off one vehicle after
another to get away from Devlin.

            As he gets to his feet, Devlin feels like his
pride is still laid out on the sidewalk.  His left jaw is throbbing, along with
his shin and throat.  He spits a fresh mix of blood and saliva onto the
sidewalk, admiring the spray pattern for half a second as he turns to see
Gloria sitting on the grass a few yards away.

            “Seriously!?” Devlin asks the bomb sniffing dog
as he holds his hands out to his sides.  “You’re not trained to help me when
this happens?  Bad girl!”

            The dog stands up and begins to wag her tail;
not understanding him, but happy to get the attention.  He smiles at Gloria as
she obediently steps in front of him and looks up at his battered face, waiting
for him to lead the way.  Devlin peers further down the sidewalk, then back
toward the rows of heavy traffic. 

            “You’ve got to be shitting me!”  Devlin exclaims
as he sees a police car mixed in amonst the rush hour traffic nearby.

            In the driver seat of the police car a black
officer is using his radio to give Devlin’s description to his dispatch team. 
His redheaded, male partner is also staring directly at Devlin, and watching
him with extreme suspicion.  When the officers realize that Devlin has spotted
them, they turn on their lights, flashing blue and red to clear traffic, creeping
ominously in his direction.               

            With an overwhelming kneejerk reaction, he spins
around, putting his back to the police car, sprinting quickly away from them
and surveying the streets near him.  Gloria also picks up her pace with a spirited
gait, the dog adapts to his uneasy demeanor, sniffing the air for threats as
they go.  Devlin sets his eyes on a Marriott Hotel just 200 yards away.  His
pace quickens when he realizes that he’ll need to traverse one city block to
get there. 

CIA Black Site - Chicago

            Inside a reinforced concrete building, just a
few miles away, Max Maxwell listens to some interesting news coming from the
police scanner.  A smile forms on his pale face as he realizes that the
description being given matches that of Devlin McConnelly.  He leans back in
his chair with intense satisfaction, grabbing his bald head lovingly with his
right hand, as if groping a piece of fruit to extract something sweet.

            “Are you listening to me!?”  James Richins
demands as he stares at Maxwell with a look of disenfranchised betrayal, his
blue eyes seemingly innocent, projecting frustration.

            “No, I’m not, you dickless tool.” Maxwell
replies with a sneer, displaying his typical contempt for all things not
relevant to him. “Did you hear that the police scanner just picked up Devlin? 
We need to get someone over there now.”

            Maxwell is wearing his typical black eye-shadow
and a black Megadeth T-shirt that reads ‘Peace sells… but who’s buying’ on the
front.  He turns immediately to a Macintosh laptop on the desk at his right and
begins to search the CIA’s proprietary asset management system. 

            “Should we call Henri?” James asks with a bit
more backbone, placing his left hand under his chin and leaning forward with
his tall, thin frame. 

            “I’m doing that right now!” Maxwell snaps,
glaring at James with tired eyes, his gaze drifting over the younger man’s
bright blue dress shirt and pressed black slacks.  “Yes, I have eyes on Devlin
McConnelly,” Maxwell announces into the microphone of his laptop while holding
a small wireless receiver firmly inside his left ear, “I’m sending the address
to your phone.  No… That order has been revised.  We need to take him out, and
it’s okay to go dirty.”

            “Are you insane!?” James stares at Maxwell with
an open mouth, his neatly polished teeth illuminated in the brightly lit room. 
“You’re authorizing a dirty op?  You haven’t even talked to Henri.  What are
you doing, you control freak?”

            “Check that last order,” Maxwell begins, rolling
his eyes at his colleague, “you are authorized to go dirty, but don’t use
standard tactics, Devlin will be ready for that.”

            “I can’t believe this!” James concedes with
helpless frustration, looking at the floor and placing his right hand on his
forehead in a fit of anxiety.  “You know that Henri is going to feed you your
intestines for this, right?  A dirty op in the middle of downtown… I wish you’d
just leave your balls in the car when you come to work.  You know, like a dog? 
Let them roll around on the floorboards, stop to lick themselves, and maybe lie
down for a nap in the afternoon sun?”

            Maxwell smiles wide, feeling like he has
asserted his dominance effectively, and that his colleague is onboard with the
plan.  He enjoys James’ analogies during his moments of anxiety; the man
displays panache under fire.  Maxwell’s face now bears a look of enhanced pride
as he continues listening to the police band, and relaying the information to
his asset via text messages.