by G.M. Shephard

The hunt is on for former Houston PD officer, Seth Broderick as he launches a one man war against his former department. To ease stress amongst overworked officers, Reid enlists Angel's help patrolling the city streets.

Angel S:2 E:2 "Guardian Angel"
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright  © 2013
Edited by: jeffusually

–––

The Neighborhood was flooded with emergency vehicles. About a dozen ambulances were on scene treating neighbors whose surrounding homes were destroyed by the blast. Two forensic techs and a detective working in the garage were missing and likely dead, caught in the middle of the massive blast. Where Broderick’s house once was, nothing remained but a massive crater extending beyond where the foundation once was. The shattered remains of the two officers standing watch on the house outside were also among the casualties bringing the total casualties attributable to Broderick to eight plus Whithers.

The large white portable phone I was holding started to ring while Reid laid down on the gurney inside the ambulance. An “Incoming call” message flashed in an amber colored display along the top of the keypad. I pressed the talk button.

“Hello.”

“This is Doctor McCormack, I received a page from this number.”

“Megan, it’s me, Karen,” I said, careful not to use my real name. Had it not been for my rapid thought processes, there was little doubt I would have bluffed a hundred times already.

“Hey Karen, where are you, I thought you were only going to be thirty–"

“–Doc, there’s been an accident...no wait, an attack. The house we were in was rigged."

"Mother of God! Is everyone ok?"

"I'm fine. Reid has a few minor scrapes and is a little shaken up, however we lost at least another five police officers,” I said, breaking down myself, my emotions emerging as I was confiding in my trusted friend.

“I'm on my way, tell me where you're at.”

“I’m fine, you don't need to come out,” I said while holding onto Reid's hand as the EMT checked his vitals again. He stared at me, breathing in the pure oxygen. A single tear dripped from his left eye.

“I'm not worried about you, tell me where are you're at.”

“Don’t Megan, it’s a mess out here. I will meet you at my place in about two hours. Can I ask you to pick up a few things for me to give to Liz and Ashley?”

“Well I can shop for Liz, I know what she likes. Ashley? If it’s clothes I have a few ideas, otherwise I’m clueless.”

“Megan, I completely trust you. Listen, I gotta get going, I’m on one of these portable phones. Damn things are an arm and a leg per minute,” I said out loud as I watched several technician off in the distance who were placing the severed body parts into bags. At that point, I began breaking down and hung up without saying goodbye.

“You ok Karen?” Reid asked, to which I frantically shook my head back and forth.

“I want this bastard. I’m gonna find him.”

“Ms. Guest, please, I really think you should let me examine you,” the paramedic examining Reid said, turning to me.

“Thank you, but I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need medical attention. How’s James?”

“He’s got a few scrapes, but nothing that requires stitches. Overall, he looks fine. Quite lucky you two were out back when the house blew, otherwise it could have been all over for the both of you.” He finished applying a bandage to Reid’s arm, then hopped down out of the ambulance.

–––

I sat behind the two way mirror as an officer brought Armando Florez into the interview room. His attorney, a middle aged woman in her 50’s, stood up and greeted him.

“Detective, are full restraints really necessary? My client here claims one of your other detectives was quite brutal with him.

“Counselor, your client is a murder suspect where, well let’s see...the count is now up to seven police officers and two forensic techs are dead. The restraints will remain.” Florez was wearing a standard issue orange jumpsuit from the local county lockup. His hands were handcuffed and padlocked to a thick leather belt, securing his hands to his waist, effectively eliminating usage for anything but playing with himself. The belt was also attached to a long length of chain locked to a pair of leg irons secured around his ankles.

“Please detective, the casualties today were not my client’s fault. He gave you information...information that you wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t been held up in traffic. He has retained my counsel, and you are not to cut any deals without me being present. You understand me?”

“I completely understand you. I was still out on medical leave when he was brought in. I can assure you, I play by the rules.”

I covered my mouth, trying hard not to laugh. ‘No rules about me are there?’ I said to myself, waiting for the questioning to start.

“Counselor, I am going to ask your client here to positively ID the man he led us to. In addition, I am going to ask him about his interactions with the suspect in question. Is that fair?”

“Yes, provided my client’s information will reduce his sentence should he be found guilty.”

“If his information is solid and it leads to an arrest.”

“And if you kill the suspect, our offer will still stand?”

“Of course. Any resolution that removes this man from my streets, thus allowing all my fellow officers in there to breathe easier.”

“Very well. Mr. Florez, do you agree?” He nodded his head in agreement.

“Mr. Florez, is your first name Armando?” Reid asked.

“Yes.”

“You mind if I use your first name?” He nodded again.

“Good. I’m Detective Reid. I’m going to show you some pictures of Seth Broderick, and I want you to see if you can identify him.”

“I already told the other guy, I never saw his face. He had a mask on.”

“Ok. So all you had to go on was this bag in his truck?”

“That’s right man.” Reid slid a photograph of Seth across the table, placing it in front of Armando.

“This is Seth Broderick.” Armando studied it for a few seconds, then concluded. “That’s not him.”

“Wait, wait. I thought you said you hadn’t seen his face. How can you be sure that’s not him?”

“Detective, what the hell kind of game are you playing?” the attorney asked.

“I mean, that body size is right, but this man he looks too good. He has no scars.”

“Scars?”

“Yeah, I didn’t see the face, but I could see he had some scars around one eye and a couple on the neck.”

“What side?” Reid asked while hovering his pen over his note pad, waiting for input from Armando.

“Right side.”

“Is that a lie?”

“No Jim,” I said into the radio. Reid was wearing a small earpiece allowing me to talk to him. “Kid’s telling the truth. His body temp hasn’t changed much and his pulse is the same pace as yours and the attorney’s.”

Before Reid went in the room, the attorney was let in where I spent a few moments listening to her heartbeat, followed by Reid’s. With a little tuning, I was able to identify the different sounds, allowing me to listen for increases in Armando’s pulse. It was crude, but when paired with my thermal vision, I was able to sense when he was lying.

“Armando, did you see anything else that I might be able to use to identify this man you saw?

“A tattoo, on his right upper arm, just above his sleeve.”

“True,” I said into the mike.

“What was the tattoo of?”

“Man, I don’t know, some military like tattoo.”

“If I were to show you a few pages of tattoos, you think you can pick it out?” Reid slid a binder with filled with all kinds of military insignias. Armando had Reid turn a few pages, then he stopped him.

“Wait, right there. Second one down on the left page.”

“This one?”

“No over two.” Reid pointed since Armando’s hands were secured to his waist, “Yeah, that’s it man...kinda.”

“What do you mean kinda?”

“His had something written below. ‘Something furry’ and a date.” I made sure my mike was off as I started laughing.

“Something furry?” Reid said, trying to withhold his own laughter. “You mean fury? As in Urgent Fury?

“Shit man, furry, fury, I don’t know. But yeah, that's it.” Reid slid a couple of photos across the table.

“This is Seth Broderick after Operation Urgent Fury. He was injured on November 12th, 1983. The scars you saw were from shrapnel he took in the face and upper body. I want you to look at that right eye for me. Is that what you saw?”

“That’s him.”

“Detective, just what are you trying to do here?” The attorney finally spoke up.

“You know very well about Broderick’s escapade. I’m not trying to protect him in any way, but I want to make sure we are going after the right guy. Seth threatened our department several times since we fired him, which makes him our prime suspect. I wanted to make sure, the man your client met with, was indeed our boy.”

“So, now you got him, now what?”

“We catch this guy, and your client here testifies against him, that could help his case. I will let the DA know to not pursue the death penalty, but your client is still looking at a bit of time.” The officer returned and escorted the prisoner back to his cell, while Reid and the Public Defender finished their discussion.

“Urgent Furry, sounds like Cosmo needing to go out or something,” Reid said as he entered the observation room laughing. I snorted my coffee out my nose at his joke.

“Damn it Jim,” I said wiping my nose, coffee still dripping from my nostrils. “Son of a bitch, I thought you were going to crack in there.

“With all that happened today, I so needed that. Let’s go to my office and talk there.” He turned and slowly stepped out into the hall, having trouble walking without his cane.

“Would it help if I carried you?”

“Thanks, once a day is enough.” We passed by the cubicle bank. A low hanging cloud hung over the department, silencing each and every cop. All the jokes and bantering that usually flooded the office areas were gone. Those who were talking, their conversations had been reduced to nothing but business. Several gave a friendly hello to me, but the sexist remarks were put on hold.

“Keep walking, I moved,” Reid said as I started to pull out the chair in his cubicle. I continued with him in the lead until we arrived at a small office with a door.

“Definitely moving up in the world. All that for getting shot in the leg?”

“Actually yes. Exactly that. Brownly needed me in early and arranged to give me some space to spread my leg out. Just a temp office till I can move around better.”

“Oh, if I were you, I would milk this as long as possible.” He chuckled as I closed the door.

“Who said I’m not?”

“Seriously? You just made me follow you as you traversed twenty yards at a snail's pace, just for show?” I smiled back.

“Ok, let’s get serious. So what was your read on him?” Jim said, turning up his radio to drown out their voices.

“As far as I could tell, he wasn’t panicking when answering your questions. Pulse and body heat all slightly above normal, but no sudden spikes.”

“Like a human lie detector? Well not really human, but no one knows about it. Simply amazing, the things you can do.” It would have been easier if I could have read his thoughts, but I just couldn’t figure it out. Maybe there was something about the planet that was rendering that ability useless. My crude lie detector was a good alternative, and one with fewer moral dilemmas to worry about. Reading one’s vitals to discover truth was far less invasive than entering their mind.

“It’s my opinion that you are correct, Florez was contacted by Broderick to run a diversion operation. So what’s next? All his clothes were obliterated, I can’t remote in.”

“I have to figure out what his next move is going to be. Brennan is running a trace on the phone call that triggered the bomb. I’m baffled by one thing though,” Reid said, staring up at the ceiling.

“What’s that?”

“How come no calls triggered the bomb before. Surely someone would have called the house and left a message.”

“I’m not sure this means anything, and might be hard for us to pursue, but as I began my mad dash for the window with you in my arms, I heard a series of tones as soon as the answering machine started recording. Perhaps there was a some kind of frequency that triggered the devices.”

“Possible. How did you know there was a bomb?”

I gave Reid a quick rundown on my vision before answering the question. “There were radio devices throughout the house that started transmitting as soon at the phone rang. I’m thinking that armed the device, which then waited for the signal to detonate.”
“So he called in to set it off. Why did he wait so long?” Reid started to ponder his last question. The ideal time would have been to blow the place when we initially raided the place. “Maybe it wasn’t how many cops were there, maybe he was waiting for specific cops?”

“Not following, Jim. What do you mean?”

“If he blew that house when we raided it, that would have been a big kill for him. What if he’s after specific people rather than an all out war?”

“Ok, I can see that. Have you analyzed the casualties against those involved in his firing?”

“I’ll check with Brennan to see if he’s working on it. You know it’s about 1pm. Why don’t you get out of here and meet up with Megan while I bring my boss and the others up to date? Still can’t have you officially involved, so you will need to disappear. I’ll talk to Brownly later, you mind if I let him in on your analytical skills and memory?”

“As long as that’s all.”

“Of course. Need a ride home?”

“Nah, I’ll take the bus,” I said, standing up. “You have Megan’s pager number?” Reid sifted through his rolodex, finding Megan’s card, and read the number off for me to confirm. “You got it, call her if you need me.” A few minutes later I was down the street in an alley checking to see if I was alone before taking off.

–––

“Mom, where’s the scotch tape?” Ashley called out. She sat on the ground in the living room next to the tree. Unwrapped gifts they bought a few days ago sat scattered around Ashley along with rolls of wrapping paper.

“Honey, you had it last. Did you check the drawer under the coffee table?” Liz asked. Ashley rummaged through the drawers of the new coffee table, finding the scotch tape.

“Found it.”

“Good. You want some cookies sweetie? Just came out of the oven.” Ashley abandoned her gift wrapping mission and ran into the kitchen, stepping up on the first rung of the bar stool, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.

“I really like your hair Mom. You look really good with short hair.”

“Thank you sweetie. Can’t handle the long hair any more.” Liz sprinkled powdered sugar over the batch of small round cookies before lifting them off the tray, placing them on a wire grill to cool. She put a few on a plate and handed them to her daughter. Ashley barely got a thank you out before biting into the hot snowball cookie. As she savored her favorite holiday sweet, Liz poured her a glass of milk, then refilled her wine glass.

“Are you excited about Aunt Karen coming over?”

“Of course I am. I wish it were Daddy coming home, but Karen–well, we have to be grateful to her.”

“Well I like her. I can’t wait to see her again.”

“I know sweetie. Just remember what we’ve been talking about.” Ashley gave a slight grin knowing the talk was coming again. She had heard it dozens of times how she wasn’t supposed to talk about Kaaren–the alien, even at home. Her mom and Dr. Megan stressed how important it was to their safety and Kaaren’s. To prevent an accidental disclosure, Liz, backed by Megan, implemented a zero discussion policy, where any talk of Michael on another planet, Kaaren’s alien nature, or her abilities was strictly forbidden.

“I know Mom, I won’t talk about anything, I promise.”

“Ok, Honey, I know. I’m going to remind you all the time though, so don’t give me any sour looks when I do.” Liz took a long sip of wine as the doorbell rang. She set her glass down and hurried over to the entryway, peering through the peephole. She unlocked the multiple chains and deadbolts that were recently added and opened the door.

“Frank. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi Liz, Merry Christmas. Sorry to drop by like this. Mind if I take a few minutes of your time?” Liz stepped aside and opened the door wide for him. He was carrying several gift bags that attracted Ashley’s attention. She approached, then stopped suddenly, slowly backing up.

“Hi there Ashley, remember me?” She didn’t respond, instead backing up further, no longer interested in the Christmas presents.

“It’s ok Ashley, it’s Mr. Thompson. You remember him right?”

“Is everything Ok?”

“Ash, if you are not going to answer, then please go to your room.” Ashley turned and disappeared down the hall, “Frank I’m really sorry. I’m struggling to work with her, but after the incident, she has some insecurity issues with men, even if she knows who they are,” Liz said, inviting him in.

“Liz, I’m really sorry. I guess I understand after–” Frank paused, not sure if he should continue, instead he stepped in and gave Liz a casual hug. “Carol wanted to come by too, but she’s not feeling well. She said to wish you a Merry Christmas. She will call you next week. She would love to see you.”

“Well tell her I look forward to it. I hope she gets better. Lousy time of year to get sick.” Liz led Frank into the kitchen. “Sorry my living room is a little messy, Ashley was wrapping some presents when you came by.”

“Oh, it’s ok, you should see our house. The boys are home from college and my daughter and Son-in-law are going to have her first in a couple weeks. My folks flew in from South Dakota and are staying with us until Jo has her baby.” Liz held up a coffee mug and a wine glass. Frank pointed to the wine glass. Liz didn’t hesitate and began pouring.

“That’s very exciting. Gonna be a Grandpa. You all ready?”

“Can’t wait, but she’s being stubborn. Won’t tell us what she’s having and won’t tell us any of the names they’ve picked out.”

“I kinda like that idea, no one can try and influence her,” Liz said, handing Frank his wine. “We don’t get to pick our names, so why should we let our parents pick our kids' names too?”

“That’s a good way to look at it. Anyway, Merry Christmas.” They lightly touched their glasses together and took a sip. Liz slid a chair out and sat down at the kitchen table. “We are so happy to know you two are safe. I was a nervous wreck this last year worrying about you two.”

“Thanks Frank, I know you were really passionate and did what you could to assist the police. Both Megan and Reid assured me you really stepped up to the plate.

“Liz, we’re a big family and Michael was one of my best. I can’t expect him to perform if you are not being taken care of. We should have done a better job watching over you.” Frank thought back to the day the call came in. He was in the middle of prepping for the first shuttle launch since the Deliverance returned, when someone slipped a note under his monitor informing him that Reid had found Liz. His heart skipped a beat, his mind temporarily taken from his duty savoring the joyous news. Word spread like a wildfire. In a matter of seconds, notes were being passed around Mission Control, that Liz was safe as was Michael’s daughter.

A creeping feeling set in deep in Franks heart amidst the wonderful news. He knew it was that last visit with Reid that broke the case, but fear struck ahead of the news report. He knew who Reid had gone to see. The excitement flowing through NASA was short lived. The media ate the story. The family of NASA’s best was kidnapped and held prisoner by a fellow astronaut.

Frank tried to pull his crew together, hoping his team would set the horrific news aside and proceed with the launch, but morale was rapidly deteriorating. The treachery of Turner’s actions left a dark shadow hanging over the control room. It was as if they lost an entire crew during liftoff, no one had any motivation to proceed with the mission. Liz and Ashley’s rescue became secondary to the stain Turner left on the organization. His death, as much as Frank didn’t wish that upon the man, was a relief because it meant there wouldn't be a public trial.

“Frank, I understand now...kinda. It’s going to take a long time for us, but I understand how important and stressful the mission was. I blame just two people, Dwayne, and myself. Before you tell me not to...save it. No matter what the best therapists say, I will carry that to my grave. I delivered myself and my daughter into the hands of someone I thought I could trust. My daughter will likely never trust a man again, especially one from NASA, because of me. I wouldn’t doubt she doesn’t really trust me.” He stood up and put his arms around Liz as she started breaking down.

“Liz, you are a strong woman. Ashley has no reason to mistrust you. You kept her safe that entire time.” She started to think about how they were home free until she tried executing Dwayne in cold blood in front of her daughter.

“Frank, I need to stop talking about this. I’m sorry. I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He grabbed one of the gift bags and fished for an envelope.

“Well, let’s talk about something else then. You two can open these on Christmas, but I wanted to deliver this personally,” he said, handing her the envelope. Liz opened the long red envelope and withdrew the card inside. She opened it, finding a check inside made out in her name. “I know you and Michael had a nice little inheritance put away, but I thought you could use this. It’s back pay for the last year. Some strings were pulled, rather easily if I might say, and you will be receiving a nice comfortable pension for the rest of your life. It’s our way of saying thank you and we’re sorry, really sorry.”

“Thank you Frank. I really appreciate it.”

“I have a few more things. Make sure Ashley keeps those grades up. When she graduates, we have a special college fund set up for her. Full scholarship. Michael helped set it up for her, but we added to it.”

“Wow, that is quite a gift, thank you so much. I have a feeling she might be working for you some day.”

“Michael did say she liked the sciences, he always hoped she would follow in his footsteps.”

“Well I will be sure to let her know later. Might be the last thing on her mind. I’ve been home schooling her right now, the first of the year, we are going to try getting her back into school. Might not work out, but I want her to get social as soon as possible, otherwise, knowing girls, she will never quite fit in.”

“Sounds like a good plan. She’s a great looking kid and smart too. She will do just fine in school. Anyway, a couple more things. When you and Ashley are ready, we would like to send you to DC so you can visit Michael’s memorial.” Frank reached into the large bag and withdrew a triangular shaped polished wooden case. “This isn’t really a Christmas present, but I know you would want his flag.” Liz took hold of the case, a tear forming and running down her cheek.

“Frank, that's too much, you've done enough."

"Liz, this isn't about making up for the last year. This is giving you the opportunity to start the healing process. We would have flown you out there for the National funeral."

"Ok, I just don't want you to shower us with favors as if you are trying to relieve some kind of guilt." Liz, always known for being reserved, was no longer afraid to say what was on her mind. It was the one thing she learned during her imprisonment. If she would have spoken up sooner like she did the night she confronted Dwayne, maybe she would have discovered his lie and freed herself. Now she was a changed woman, and like Ashley, didn't trust anyone. Her old self died with Michael, leaving the frail housewife of an astronaut a distant memory. In her place, a stronger, hardened woman remained, one who would never let any harm come to her daughter again.

"Liz, I can't stop thinking about what one of my men did to you and Ashley. I'm not going to lie to you and pretend I'm not overwhelmed with some form of guilt, deserved or not, but always remember this, we owe everything to Michael. Taking care of the two he loved so much is the least the world can do. We have piles of letters and packages from every country in the world. All addressed to you." Liz began crying heavily. Frank embraced her again, letting her cry on his shoulder. He looked up to see Ashley standing in the kitchen staring at him. He slowly released Liz and stood up, backing up into the living room to allow Ashley to come to her mother's aid.

"Go ahead Ashley, it's ok. Your mom needs you."

Frank slowly backed up, giving the Ashley her required space. She watched him making certain he remained in the living room as she approached her mother. Ashley held on to her mom afraid to take her eyes off Frank.

“You two have a Merry Christmas. I’ll have Carol call you early next week. Don’t mind me, I will let myself out.”

“Frank, don’t be silly, let me walk you out.”

Liz planted a kiss on Ashley’s forehead, “thank you sweetie for being there for Mommy. Stay here a moment okay? When I get back I have something to show you. Daddy and Mr. Thompson did something very nice for you. You think you can say thank you?”

Ashley stood in silence, trying to muster up the courage to speak. She finally turned her head, gazing at the man she had met many times, “Ashley, it’s ok. Tell you what, you write a card and have your mommy send it for you, think you can do that?”

“Frank, thank you, but she has to overcome this,” Liz turned to her daughter. “Ashley honey, you don’t have to go over there, just be a polite little hostess and thank Mr. Thompson for the gifts. “Sweetie, Mr. Thompson’s a nice man, your father and him were good friends. Was Daddy and Dwayne good friends?”

“No,” she said in a whiny voice while shaking her head.”

“See, so why don’t you trust your dad and trust his friend.”

After another long moment of thinking, she finally opened her mouth, “Thank you, Merry Christmas.”

–––

Reid softly rapped on the door to the room. A moment later the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum floor sounded through the thick door.

"Hi Denise."

"James! I was starting to think you would never come by," she said, opening the door to let Reid in. He offered her a bouquet of flowers that he picked up at a local florist on the way over.

"I've been recovering myself, but that's no excuse, I should have come sooner."

"Well I'm glad you are here now, please come in." Denise’s face looked worn, having done nothing lately but shedding a lifetime of tears. It didn't take any detective work to know she was tired. Her life completely put on hold, standing by her ex-husband's side, waiting for a miracle. Reid looked across the spacious room, finding the hospital bed with the lifeless body lying there in silence. He slowly limped his way around the bed, taking ahold of Whither's warm but motionless hand. Denise watched, hoping Bill would react to Jim's presence.

"Bill, it's me Jim. Can you hear me?" Reid waited, he too hoping for movement. He tried several more times hoping there would be a reaction, but there was no movement.

"Some days he will move his hands and eyes a little. I’ve caught him staring at me a few times, but mostly, there is no reaction. The doctors say it's all spasms that cause the movement, and nothing that his brain is doing. They do such a great job of stripping hope from you don’t they?"

"There's always hope, found that out the hard way."

"I know you did. I'm proud of you Jim. You never gave up hope. Finding that family somehow makes this somewhat acceptable. He believed in you and was excited to have you working with him. He loved the passion you had for whatever was thrown at you. He told me the day this happened, that if anyone could find them, it would be you." Reid pulled up a chair, getting off his leg.

"Thank you. That means a lot to know that. I was really looking forward to working with Bill. He was always a good guy. Didn't take crap, but he was a man of integrity.” Reid paused, adjusting his leg until the pain eased. As he spoke, Denise stood up and fetched another chair, helping Reid lift his injured leg and allowing it to rest. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"And he wanted to have you on his team. Bill was very excited to have you come on board."

"You know several blame me for what happened, and believe me, I blame myself too. It bothers me to think part of this was my fault."

The first several days in the hospital were hell. Burning in fever from the infection, while tormented that his absence caused Whithers' injury–no, caused his death. Reid stared at the lifeless body before him as Whithers' first wife laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't do that James. He was a good cop and loved his job. We all know there are risks with police work. He knew that, I knew that when I married him, had children with him. I eventually left him because I couldn't stand the thought of having someone knocking on my door one day telling me he was killed in the line of duty."

Denise began breaking down in front of Reid. "I made a mistake James. I should have never left him. Instead of me, the current Mrs. Whithers got the knock on the door. Her first reaction was to call her damn lawyer. She finally arrived to find the kids and I in the ER praying he would pull through. What does she do? Orders security to keep us from seeing him."

Reid's heart broke hearing the story. As a police officer he had witnessed all kinds of scum, even people that made Dwayne seem charming. Vanessa Whithers was a despicable human being. It wasn't that she was so vile, no, he had seen worse, but Bill was someone he cared for. This was personal and he knew her type. Marry, put up with the guy a while, then grab the money and run, then repeat. With Bill out of the way, she would get his pension, and the kids wouldn't see a dime.

"I see she didn't get far with that?" Reid said laughing. All hospital security could do is call the police and have a visitor arrested for trespassing after failing to comply with hospital rules. Bill was well liked throughout Houston PD. About the only thing people despised Whithers for was marrying Vanessa, an obvious gold digger twenty years his senior.

At first, security complied with her demands to have Denise, his two sons and daughter removed. When they refused, the guard placed them under citizen's arrest for trespassing. Officer Kelly finally responded and quickly placed the security guard under arrest for false arrest. From the department heads who witnessed the spectacle, Kelly turned the false arrest into a big scene in front of Vanessa and the other security guards, sending a clear message not to screw with Whithers' family.

In a rage, Vanessa took her complaints of police harassment to the top before she finally gave up and channeled her efforts through the courts–not to keep the family out, but to pull the plug.

Here, support for Whithers split down the middle. Many remained on the family's side, but a strong opposition sided with the wife on an emotional front to see their beloved friend's suffering come to an end.

"How can she do this to him? You know what's going to happen if we lose in court?"

"Yeah, she gets to end it for him. I don't want to see her do that, but it just seems cruel to keep him alive."

"No James, that's not what happens. He's not hooked up to machines keeping him from dying. His body's alive and functioning on it's own. They don't pull the plug Jim, the pull the feeding tube. Sick bitch is going to legally have him starved to death." Denise paused, crying her heart out for several minutes before regaining her composure. "I can't bear the thought of the torture. It can take a week, slowly withering away. They might think his mind is gone, but I know he's in there."

"Oh god, that's a horrible, painful death if he is. I promise you Denise, if I can find a way to stop her, I will."

"If there is anyone that can, it will be you James. You never give up. Those two girls are safe because of you. I think it's time you told Bill how it all played out." Reid looked up at Denise. She handed him a folded newspaper.

"What do you mean?" he said as he opened the newspaper, finding himself on the front page lying in his own hospital bed, with Liz and Ashley on either side. Taken a week after they were found, it was the only appearance they made for the press.

"I thought he should hear it from none other than you. This is a good end for him. The Owens will be his legacy, carried out through your hard work. You were his last partner and I couldn't be any more proud." She gave another squeeze and started to walk back to the other side of the bed, grabbing her purse off another chair. "I'll leave you two alone. I have to get going before the new Mrs. Whithers comes by with her lawyer. I’m not going to let her pull the plug Jim. Bill and I had our differences, but something in me never stopped loving him.” Denise didn’t wait for Reid to reply. She just opened the door and left the two alone.

–––

Reid took a cloth and wiped the drool dripping down Whithers’ face. Part of his upper left scalp was shaved where a 7.62 round grazed his head. The wound had healed nicely. The bullet wound to the left collar, where an AK round hit the subclavian artery, had also healed nicely, as did the other impacts along the left side of his body. It had been determined that the angle at which the rounds struck the glass deflected their trajectory enough that the bullets missed the vital organs.

It boiled down to one’s worldview as to whether you considered Whithers to be a lucky man. The cops with strong faith flooded the room, praising God that he was still alive, while those who didn’t have any allegiance to religion, or downright despised the idea of believing in an imaginary sugar daddy in the sky, thought Whithers’ life was now a waste of space. Keeping him alive was useless, if not cruel.

“Bill, hey buddy. Come on, it’s me, Jim. We’re all alone, just you and I. Talk to me,” Reid said as he got up and moved to the other side, where Whithers’ head was still turned. “I know hospitals suck, spent over a week in one myself. Wanna see?” Reid opened newspaper and held it before Whithers’ eyes, “See, that’s me recovering from a gunshot too. See those two beautiful girls?” Reid pointed to the picture. “This is Liz, and that’s her daughter Ashley.

Reid looked into Bill's eyes hoping to see some kind of reaction. After a minute Reid lowered the paper and took a seat beside him.

"Quite a story Bill. If it hadn't been for your compassion, that sick bastard would have kept them for who knows how long. Who would have guessed it was the envious alternate commander of Operation THOR that took them. FBI criminal psychologists are having a field day with this guy's psyche."

Reid lifted the paper, scanning down the column searching for the part he was looking for.

"Here listen to this," Reid gave him a quick glimpse before turning to the article and beginning to read.

"Detective James Reid, lead investigator on the Owen case who was recently transferred to Houston's Homicide division, tracked the missing family to a self made bomb shelter made by NASA's own Dwyane Turner. Turner, a former Air Force Pilot and NASA astronaut, was Commander Michael Owen's rival on Project THOR. He took the family after learning of Owen's death in October of last year.

Authorities released a statement reporting the family had been convinced by the jealous pilot that the Icarus had in fact impacted. "We were afraid to go outside due to radiation he said was filling the atmosphere. How were we supposed to know it was all a lie? It all seemed real in light of the mission my husband gave his life for," Elizabeth Owen, wife of the late Michael Owen said through a spokesperson from NASA.

A detailed investigation performed by the FBI found Turner had been working part time as a project engineer for BioTech Labs in Houston TX since March of 1986. Two weeks after the Owens' disappearance immediately following the successful completion of Operation THOR, Turner resigned from NASA, accepting a Lead Project Engineer position with BioTech Labs where he worked mostly from home, developing self contained biospheres and living environments for off-world colonies.

"Mrs. Owen and her daughter Ashley were in part being used as human guinea pigs by Turner. Pages of data was recovered at his home and office strongly suggesting he was testing long term survivability as if his subjects were Mars colonists," Detective Harris, also assigned to the case, reported.

Harvey Benson, President and CEO of BioTech Labs announced his resignation in the wake of his indictment on 23 counts of fraud and misappropriation of Government Grants. Federal investigators uncovered financial records showing Benson and other executives had used considerable portions of private investments and government grant money on lavish parties and exotic vacations.

"Over 2.4 Million in investor capital was transferred from a R&D account to a private offshore account in Switzerland by Turner two days before fleeing the country," Special Agent Maxwell of the FBI said in an interview Tuesday. Because of Switzerland's neutrality with the U.N., the country is not obligated to reverse funds or cooperate with foreign investigators."

Reid skipped down the article, bypassing more crap about the financial trouble of the company.

"–Turner, age 41, was officially declared dead after several boaters off Key West witnessed Turner's aircraft performing a series of maneuvers and increasing altitude before the Cessna stalled and disintegrated before hitting the ocean."

"After cross examination of the witness testimony and verification of Radar tracking of the aircraft, we are confident Turner was in control of the aircraft and had not parachuted to safety," Maxwell reported, stating Turner was indeed deceased."

Reid skipped again. "Listen to this Bill," Reid said, turning to Whithers.

"When asked to comment regarding the case, Detective Reid said from his hospital bed, "Since the day I was first handed the case, finding Commander Owen's family was my number one priority. He left the two he loves the most behind so he could save us. I had to find them, even if it was the last thing I did. I owed him that much."

"Detective Lt. Bill Whithers, senior investigator with Houston criminal investigation devision who was critically injured during the Mercury Saving's shootout two days prior, had been searching for Reid after he failed to report for duty. Whithers, a 40 year veteran police officer, well known for the arrest and successful prosecution of several dozen violent offenders, remains in critical condition with a grim prognosis. Police Chief Charles Gormley stated Whithers was a major asset in the final outcome of the Owen case and has extended his department's sympathy for his officer."

Reid stared at the mylar "Get Well" balloons begging to be freed from the ceiling where they could escape into the clouds.

"Bill, this is all you. They’re safe because of you. Imagine, two more days was all it boiled down to. You gave them life Bill. That two more days you gave me was all we needed and now Owen's wife and daughter are free. I don't know if you can hear me in there, but we did it.

Reid looked down to see Bill’s eyes had sunk back and were welling up in a pool of tears which were trapped by gravity inside the eye socket, not able to flow down the cheeks.

Excited, Reid quickly stood, leaning down connecting to his boss, staring deep into his eyes. Bill's eyes tracked his movement, following Reid's face moving closer to the bed.

"Bill, buddy, that's it. Come back to us."

Whithers' right hand twitched and slowly lifted, feeling its way across his stomach. Reid reached out to meet it half way, taking Bill's hand into his and lifting it up as his face produced a slight frown.

"What do you want to say Bill? Talk to me, anything you want, just say something."

Reid waited impatiently hoping it would be him he spoke to first. If Bill did nothing but cuss him out, Reid didn’t care.

The tears finally collected and spilled over, running down Whithers' cheek, his lips trembling as if he was trying desperately to keep from tearing up in a sappy movie.

"It's ok Bill, you take your time, you talk whenever you want."

Reid felt a slight twitch grow stronger in Bill's hand–giving a slight squeeze before slumping on his chest. The sudden burst of life disappeared as quickly as it appeared, leaving Reid alone with the lifeless corpse once again. As Bill's hand slid back down it knocked the pulse monitor from his finger, tripping the alarm. Reid was fumbling to reattach it when a nurse rushed through the door.

"What's going on?"

"He moved," Reid shouted with excitement, "he moved his hand and knocked the clip off his finger."

"That's normal, just involuntary muscle spasms. There's no brain activity, you people need to stop getting all excited when this happens."

"No, it wasn't a spasm, he reacted to something I said."

"Sorry, he didn't. I would love nothing more to see him come back, but the brain is simply dead."

"Bullshit, he teared up in front of me, I saw, he wanted to talk but couldn't."

"I'm sure it appeared that way, but patients like Mr. Whithers here don't blink that often. Their eyes can dry up or catch some dust, causing a stimulation of the muscles that release moisture from the ducts. It's simply nothing."

"You're wrong."

"Look detective, you don't see me criticizing your lack of police work finding Whithers' shooter, so don't sit here and try convincing me I don't know my field of expertise. If you don't mind, visiting hours are over, and don't think you can strong arm your way into staying. Unlike security, I'm not afraid of you. I have a patient to care for and there's nothing that will keep me from doing that job. Say good night detective."

Furious, Reid quickly gave Whithers a final squeeze of the hand before rushing out the door as quick as his leg would allow. He had to find a pay phone and call Denise. Then, he needed to find something on Vanessa to stop her from yanking the plug.

–––

"How are you doing on money Karen?" Megan said as I followed her around the women's clothing department. Megan managed to free up a few hours and lend me her expertise in woman’s clothing. It was a madhouse, the mall was crowded with only one shopping day before Christmas Eve. I had several ideas for Liz, but mostly jewelry. Megan advised against it. A gift of that magnitude should actually come from my true self, not Karen. Once she learned the truth and was able to accept it, then such gifts would be appropriate.

"Still doing alright. The apartment is starting to eat up my cash, but I still have enough to last a while."

"Too bad you can’t get access to the rest of your money."

“Don’t need it. Let Liz and Ash have it, they need it. I’m the man, I can get a job and support myself. Besides, my needs are small.”

“Good attitude.” she held up a purple dress. It looked tight and sexy long enough to show her legs, but not too short, "how about this?"

“No!”

“Why not, I think she would look really good in it?”

“No!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want her to look sexy like that.”

“Why not?”

“Megan, that has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say. Why not? Think about it. Just what the hell am I supposed watching her stroll around like that. Can’t love her, can’t touch her, can’t...oh forget it.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. Yes, that was dumb, I should have given your feelings a bit more consideration.”

Megan hung the dress sideways on the rack. “Can I tell you a little secret about us girls?”

“Why do you always say that?”

“Say what?”

“Swear, none of you thought to let me in on this secret society of yours until I wound up playing on your team. Now you want to teach me everything. Would have been good to know the first 37 years of my life.”

“What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry, just a little moody. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. If you don’t mind, I was going to tell you how we girls don’t dress up for men.”

“So you completely waste our time for nothing? What the hell do you dress up for?”

“We like being complimented. You suck at it.”

“I most certainly do not.”

“Ok you tell Liz, but what about me? What about other women?”

“Well sorry, my wife happens to be all I care about. Not that you aren’t attractive and pretty–shit, this feels like one of those damned if you do damned if you don’t traps.”

No matter what I say, it’s going to be wrong. Oh hell, I hate this. I’m so confused living like this. She was silent as if she was lost for words for the first time in her life.

“It’s not a trap.”

“It is. You girls give us no safe way to answer. Is my ass look fat? We get in trouble for saying we like it, we get in trouble for lying, and we get a night on the couch for keeping our mouth shut. Don’t get upset if you don’t like–”

“–Give me a break, you know I’m not like that, so don’t accuse me as such by grouping me in with other women.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be this way. I have a lot going on right now, and I’m worried about Friday.”

I followed her through the racks of brightly colored clothes dazzling my vibrant eyes, stopping every now and then as she picked something off the rack and uselessly asking for my opinion. All I offered in return was a shrug of the shoulders or a thumbs down.

“You’ll do fine, just don’t show off, be humble and enjoy the time together. When she’s ready, she’ll see her husband isn’t so far away.”

“You think she will get pissed that we’re lying to her?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“But I do.”

“I’ve told you before, now is not the time. They won’t believe you if you told them, but give them enough time to get to know you, and it will be just like I said, they’ll recognize the man they love. Trust me. If I’m wrong, I will take full responsibility.”

“I trust you.”

“Good, now, trust me on the clothing.”

“Not that.”

"Just hear me out Mich–I mean Karen,” Megan started to say, almost slipping up.

I liked when she called me by my real name, but she and I were starting to spend a lot of time in the presence of others who didn't know who I really was. Even if we were alone, we got in the habit of using Karen. At first I enjoying hearing my new legal name provided by Jim, but soon the novelty wore off and I began feeling the early signs Michael was starting to fade away.

“Women like to be told they look pretty, even if it’s from other women. Something like this says you think she’s a knock out and can rock this dress.”

“I get that, but I don’t want her to–”

“–Think about it this way, you want to come across as purposely trying to dress her down? I’m sure you are quite aware of yourself, you’re extremely attractive, the stuff runway models are made of. Tall, slender, great figure, gorgeous hair and a face anyone would love to wake up to ever–”

“–Oh god, stop right there. Too far Megan, too far,” I shuddered at the thought waking up next to another man. Given my new body, I was still quite straight inside.

“Sorry, didn’t mean that. Any ways, she’s going to find you to be competition if you think she should wear Sunday church clothes.”

“And what am I wearing? Does this look like runway model fashion to you?”

“You make anything look good. You know how many women would hate you if they knew you could maintain that figure without even trying.”

“Fine, I don’t want to think about this any more. It’s too complicated. Just pick something out, I’m going to look around. I’ve been meaning to get a watch, none of mine fit.”

“What about you, what are you going to wear on Christmas?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"I have no clue. Haven't thought about it."

"Still a guy at heart. I bought a couple new outfits for both Christmas Eve and Christmas. This is a big day for you, don't you want to make a good impression?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to con you into anything, I just know how important this moment is going to be for you. Consider me just looking out for you."

“Thanks. I might just pick me up a red shirt to wear with my black suit.”

“We can go take a look when we are done here.”

“Did you ever find something for Ash?”

“I bought her a camera. Canon make these cute little Snappy cameras that anyone can use.”

“Oh, she will love that, great idea. She’s a good age for that.”

“I thought so. Some day, say ten years from now, you might want these times you spend together with her captured.”

“Maybe.”

“No, trust me, you will. Later, you may not have the enhanced memory you have now.”

“You’re right, never thought about that. It’s true, I don’t care who I am, as long as I can be there for her.”

We continued through the department store, stopping every few feet to remove something from a rack. Megan would hold it in front of her, checking herself out in the mirror before sizing it up on me.

“Karen, look,” she pointed to a display of Christmas clothes. She walked over and picked up a red sweater, unfolding it. “This looks like the one you used to have.”

“It does. Maybe a little longer.” As I spoke the words, Megan held it up to me. Sure enough, the bottom was low enough to make it look like a short skirt. “Higher around the neck too.”

“I think it would look cute. Would go great with black leggings.”

“Cute? I don’t want to wear cute. Besides, I practically wore the same thing last year.”

“Ok, now you’re starting to sound like one of us. You don’t have to wear it to dinner. I just know you loved that sweater and thought I would point it out.”

“It was okay.”

“Just okay? You practically wore it every other day. Tell you what, I will buy it for you. After all, it was my fault the old one has two giant holes in the upper chest.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me about that.”

–––

Sergeant Nolan sucked the scalding hot coffee off his hand as the kid drove. Damn lids were worthless, no matter how careful you are, coffee always leaks, staining your newly cleaned uniform.

“Told you rookie, don’t top this shit off.”

“Sorry Sarge,” the kid said as he reached over with a napkin to help clean up the mess.

“Don’t touch, you are only going to make it worse,” Nolan barked back, tormenting the kid. The kid, or rookie as he would call them, graduated from the academy six months ago and had been nothing but a nuisance. He made sure to hound him relentlessly even when his performance was spot on–as it usually was.

“Sarge, I’ve been meaning to ask you, I know you don’t like me much, but I’m going fishing Saturday with my dad, uncle and cousin. He still wants to meet you, so I suggested he let me take you along.”

“Kid, let’s get something straight. It’s not that I don’t like you, I have a job to do, one that I don’t like doing much, but I’m good at it. I’m not here to make friends with the FNGs, I’m here to teach you all the shit they don’t teach you in the academy. Like my boy at home, he doesn’t learn the important aspects of life by being his buddy. Same goes with you. You understand me?”

“Loud and clear Sarge. You know you’re a lot like him?”

“Who?”

“My pops. Treated me the same way growing up. Kicked my ass and never took any shit from me. He’s a tough as nails, no BS kinda man who wouldn’t hesitate a moment to knock me back in line.”

“That so? That what makes you a man, smacking people around?”

“No sir, it’s just that I grew up to respect him.”

“Yeah, well my father beat me and my mother, can’t stand the son of a bitch. Let me get something through your skull, I have never laid a hand on my kids, and I don’t engage in that bullshit on the job either, not like this asshole we’re after.”

“Sarge, I’m not saying you beat your kids, nor did my pops. There’s a difference between hitting your kids and beating them. Certainly a difference here on the streets.”

“Yeah, well don’t let me catch you acting like this asshole. Here pull over.” The kid eased the cruiser out of traffic, pulling up alongside an officer scribbling out a parking ticket.

“Hey Miller, how’s the new job?” Nolan said leaning out the window.

“Piss off Nolan,” he snarled back.

“That’s Sergeant Nolan to you now. You’re supposed to move up the ladder, not down. Hey kid, meet our new meter maid.”

“Oh, got yourself a new chauffeur I see? Make sure you hold his hand when you help the Sarge out of the car. He has trouble getting in and out of cars at his age.”

“Least I didn’t get shot in the back with my own weapon.”

The kid just kept his mouth shut, likely debating if he should risk stepping out of line by saying something he shouldn’t.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“You know what, you’re right. We got real police work to do, catching bad guys. Have fun writing parking tickets.”

“Asshole!” Miller yelled out, as the kid pulled back out into traffic. They sat in silence a bit before the kid finally spoke up.

“What’s his story Sarge?”

“Miller? He’s the type I was telling you about. Been beating the crap out of his kid for years. Didn’t straighten him out, made him a no good little SOB like his dad. Kid’s serving four years for shooting him.”

“His boy shot him in the back? He’s the one I’ve heard about. Was the desk Sarge?”

“Key word was. Got his ass suspended and demoted.”

“For getting shot?”

“No because he was a reckless idiot. Boy was being booked on burglary charges and Miller popped him in the face while he was handcuffed.”

The Kid cringed, “Oh god, really?”

“Yeah. Another broke dick in the department hadn’t secured his cuffs, the boy wiggled free and decided he was finally sick of his old man’s bullshit, grabbed his pop’s .38 and put a bullet in his back at point blank range, then took a woman hostage.”

“Carrie, I’ve heard the guys talking about her.”

“Karen, her name’s Karen.”

“Yeah, that’s it, heard she’s got a great bod and super cute.”

“Watch it Kid, she’s off limits. I don’t give a crap if the other guys make their snide remarks wanting to get a piece of her. You talk shit like that in front of me again and I will partner you up with Miller. You understand?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Good, because if it weren’t for her–”

“–Sarge. Four cars up, got a blue pickup. It’s raised with roll bars, looks like our guy,” the kid said with excitement like he hooked his first fish. Nolan grabbed the radio without making any sudden moves.

“Ok kid, take a deep breath and calm down. This guy’s dangerous, act like you don’t notice him and get me a positive ID on the make and model.”

“Yes sir.”

Nolan tried to calm himself down without revealing he was nervous. Silently he cursed himself wishing he was doing the driving right now instead of the kid.

“123 to dispatch, possible sighting of suspected hit and run suspect driving a green Ford Sierra X-Ray Robert 41 heading westbound on Gray St,” Nolan called in the predetermined code for Broderick’s vehicle. He likely was monitoring police bands, so a false vehicle description was given to all units during the AM briefing two days ago. The Ford model was rare, only 650 made, none offered in green. The likelihood of an actual Sierra XR41 colored green driving through Houston was nearly impossible.

“Dispatch to 123, 10-4 on the Green Ford Sierra. Units en route, stand by for further instruction.”

“Positive ID, Ford F-150. Got a partial match on the plates,” the kid said casually.

“Good. Partial match, or you can only see part of the plate?”

“The latter. Texas plate Tom Henry 24. Can’t see the rest.”

Nolan watched as the truck rolled to a stop ahead. He picked up his coffee and took a sip while looking around, hoping to act as casual as possible. His hand clenched tight on the 12 gauge seated between him and the kid. Damn, he wished he had his AR-15 instead of this piece of shit Remington. The department had distributed M-16s to several squad cars as a tactical response to highly armed suspects, but the department was having trouble ordering stock to issue to every car. To give him a boost, Nolan swapped out the standard issue buckshot rounds with deer slugs hoping they would be effective enough against Broderick’s armor.

“Good work kid. This is likely our guy. Can I count on you to do exactly as I say?”

“You know I will Sir–”

Ahead the blue pickup screeched to a halt at an intersection, stopping traffic. The door swung open and a large well built man emerged.

“Shit,” Nolan yelled seeing Broderick appear through the windshields of the cars ahead of him.

“Sarge, he’s got an M-16 with an M203.”

The sound of automatic fire erupted as the kid kicked the door open while drawing his side arm. Broderick was about 75 feet away firing to the left of his truck. Nolan exited and ran wide with the 12 gauge trying to flank him while yelling for the pedestrians to get down. The kid’s handgun reported as he unloaded the magazine.

A bright flash erupted followed by the sound of an explosion. Nolan came into view sweeping the area with the Remington. A cruiser facing northbound at the intersection was engulfed in flames. Black smoke billowed from the twisted hood where the grenade impacted while the cop driving exited, dropping to the ground screaming as the flames burned his flesh. “Get down lady–” Nolan yelled to the woman standing frozen to his right. Broderick heard and quickly turned, ignoring the kid. His upper body was armored and his face wore a mask painted like a skull. He raised his weapon over his head and fired crudely. A stream of rounds hurtled toward Nolan before he could get a shot off with the 12 gauge. He dropped the shotgun, lunging for the woman still standing just beyond the field of fire.

More pistol shots reported through the street, echoing off the buildings as the sound of approaching units drew closer. Automatic fire returned, silencing the small arms fire from his partner.

“Stay down damn it,” Nolan yelled, drawing his .45. He stood, weapon out, as a second explosion rocked the area, jolting him before he regained his posture and fired–hitting the side of the truck’s inner bed as it peeled out. Nolan tracked the vehicle as it emerged and vanished among the traffic. Drivers in the cars, deeming it finally safe to flee their vehicles, scattered, preventing a clear shot.

“Get the fuck down!”

The truck disappeared around the corner, robbing him of his opportunity to end this shit.

“Serge, get in!” Nolan heard from the side. Lights and sirens from his car came to life and the door swung open. The kid was still alive. Nolan didn’t hesitate, he grabbed the 12 gauge and jumped in the car, hitting his head on the door frame.

“You ok?” Nolan asked as the kid accelerated. Light poured through the holes in the door where the M-16 rounds penetrated.

“Fine, you?”

“A-Okay.”

“I hit him. Several times in the vest, but I think I nicked his arm,” he said with excitement.

Kid had been on the job six months to Nolan’s 14 years, yet the rookie fired his weapon at his first live target about 20 seconds before Nolan took his. He had drawn his weapon countless times over his career, but this was a first.

“He’s going left, get ready,” Nolan called out anticipating Broderick’s escape. “Officers down on corner of Grey and San Jacinto St. 123 in pursuit of a shooting suspect in blue Ford F-150 heading southbound on LaBranch. Suspect armed with an assault rifle and grenade launcher. Suspect may be hit in the arm, recommend alerting hospitals to be on the lookout.”

“Roger 123, proceed with caution. Air units en route.”

“10-4.”

The kid pulled a hard left, rapidly closing the distance between them and Broderick. Nolan reached out to the sun visor and grabbed the medal clipped on the shade.

“What’s that?” The kid asked as Nolan rubbed the medal several times.

“St. Michael. My grandmother gave it to me when I first started. I keep it in every car I drive.”

“Some kind of religious thing?”

“Get ready, he’s going to go down that alley ahead,” Nolan said before calling in his position. “Yeah, it’s a Catholic thing. St. Michael’s the patron saint of cops.”

“What’s a patron saint?”

“Later, pay attention to this ass–”

“–Shit,” the kid yelled at the truck skidded to a stop. Broderick jumped out and raised his M-16, “Grenade!”

A small puff of smoke cleared the barrel of the M203. The shell hit the windshield, penetrating the glass. Nolan closed his eyes thinking of his son and daughter, clenching the medal tight in his hand waiting for the explosion. He felt his heart about to explode from the tension as the seconds passed.

“CS grenade,” the kid yelled, flooring the accelerator. Nolan opened his eyes as the car lurched forward. A thick cloud of gas started filling the back of the cruiser from the grenade embedded in the back window. The Kid barreled down the alley with his head sticking out the window taking shallow breaths. Nolan held his breath, his eyes starting to tear up as the gas began mixing with the moisture in his eyes.

The tear gas round had penetrated the front windshield dead center, and passed through the small window in the wire mesh keeping them safe from a suspect in custody. Nolan stuck his head out the window and gulped at the fresh air. He started coughing, taking some gas deep into his lungs.

“Small breaths Sarge, don’t hold your breath,” the kid said, becoming the teacher.

“You still on him?” Nolan said between coughs.

“I’m right on his ass.”

Nolan found the shallow breathing helped, but it was too late, the gas was already burning his throat and the cloud was getting denser.

“Cover your ears.” Nolan ordered as he shifted in the seat to face backward. He poked the twelve gauge through the opening in the wire mesh and began firing the deer slugs around the edges of the back windshield. The first few slugs simply made a large hole in the glass. The fourth round impacted, completely shattering the glass.

The wind current pouring in the side doors no longer circulated around the back seat pushing the gas forward. With the window gone, the gas hitched a ride on the wind current and poured out the back, almost instantly clearing the back seat. Nolan sucked in the fresh air trying to cough up the shit in his lungs.

“You okay kid?”

“Never better.”

With the front clear of the gas, both could see out the front windshield again. Nolan watched as the truck swerved slightly before passing another alley.

“Watch out,” he yelled to the kid, noticing a semi trailer backing up into the alley. He held on tight wondering if the kid was going to chance it or stop.

“You’re not going to make it.”

The kid pulled a hard left, skidding across the wet alley before straightening out and accelerating down the intersecting alleyway, barely clearing the semi’s trailer.

“Kick ass driving kid,” Nolan said, surprised he actually complemented him. The rookie turned right, then right again, pulling onto the main street. Cars slowed to a halt instead of pulling over as required by law. The kid flipped the switch before Nolan though of it and barked through the PA at the driver of a pink Cadillac with a pair of steer horns on the front fender, before finally pushing through, grinding his cruiser against the hideous car.

“Hahaha, hell yeah. See you went to the Harris school of offensive driving,” Nolan said, coughing.

“Fucking prick. What’s part of emergency don’t they understand?”

“123, lost sight of suspect, anyone got a visual?”

The kid turned back down the alley. With the exception of a couple of derelict cars and countless dumpsters filled to the brim, the alley was empty.

“Shit, where the hell is he?”

“Anyone got him damn it?” Nolan coughed into the radio.

“149, Negative visual on the Suspect.” The kid slammed on the brakes and started pounding on the steering wheel as all units reported in that they'd lost contact with Broderick’s truck.

“Where the fuck is air support damn it?” Nolan seized the opportunity and bolted out of the car, heaving from the gas still in his lungs. The Kid rushed around to his partner as Nolan hunched over, the contents of his stomach rushing to the surface.

“Sarge, you ok?”

“Fine. Feeling better now. How about you?”

“A-Okay. Had to breathe that shit about eight months ago in the academy. You hold it and you suck in too much when you run out of breath. Breathe shallow, and it’s not as bad.”

The two walked back to the car where Nolan hopped up on the hood, collapsing on his back, his legs hanging over the edge.

“Scully, that was some pretty damn good work there. You can chauffeur me around any day.”

“How about Saturday?”

“You tell that old man of yours I would be happy to. Welcome to the club, you don’t need a babysitter any more.”

---

"How's the leg Reid?"

"You know, I could retire if I got a dollar every time someone asked," the detective answered, closing the door to Captain Brownly's office. "Seriously, hurting like a son of a bitch right now," he pulled up a chair and plopped down without waiting for permission. He reached out with his new cane and pulled the other chair around and lifted his leg onto it.

"Can't tell you how thrilled I am you are alright. Damn lucky SOB.”

‘In ways you would never know,’ Reid thought to himself. Had Karen not been there to save his ass again, he would have been gone, with nothing for his family to bury.

“Ok, enough of the sentimental crap. I read your report regarding Florez’s positive ID of Broderick. It fits with everything else, including the assault rifles in the trunk of the van our boys were delivered in. That was one hell of a nice tipoff you got by the way. Care to share the source?"

"An anonymous friend. Never met him," Reid said with confidence, having already planned what he would say.

"Well you got some nice friends on the other side of the fence. If you talk to them, you give them my thanks."

"Will do Sir."

"Now, where was I?"

"The AKs in the van."

"Yes, that's right. So all the weapons recovered were registered to him, and covered with his prints. Prick didn’t give a shit if we traced it to him.” Brownly, a straight-laced kind of guy, didn’t like spending too much time on unless chatter. Conversations with him were often colorful and very intimidating if you happened to be in trouble with him.

“He sure hasn’t been shy, going out of his way to let us know he means business.” There was a knock on the door to which Brownly called out, permitting whomever was outside to enter.

“Captain,” Brewer said as she entered the office.

“What do you need Brewer?”

“Sir, reports are coming in, Sergeant Nolan and his trainee Scully spotted Broderick’s truck moments before he put a grenade into Worley’s car.

“God damn it.” He screamed, slamming his fists on the desk while making eye contact with her. She read the expression on his face and knew what his eyes were asking.

“Worley’s in critical condition with third degree burns. His partner Lozano was pronounced dead on the scene. Nolan and Scully are being treated for tear gas inhalation after Broderick fired a gas grenade into Nolan’s car. Said the kid gave a mighty good chase before Broderick disappeared.”

“How the fuck did he get away?”

“Units have a ten mile area sealed off and checkpoints set up leading out of town.”

“What do you need from me right now?” Reid said as Brewer left to carry out Brownly’s orders.

“Jim, I need you to stay the hell off that leg. I appreciate you helping out, but I need you here going through the data. We have to connect something to his base of operations.”

“I agree Sir, these attacks are too well planned to be carrying out from a car.”

“Find where this asshole is holing himself up.”

“Sir, would it be okay if I work from my car. I promise I will stay out of trouble, but it will at least keep me in the field in case we need extra manpower.”

“I don’t like it, but I see the logic in it. Very well, but get in your hole and stay put. I’ll sign off for a mobile phone for you. Call me directly if you find anything.”

“You got it.”

“Reid. Find this son of a bitch for me and I might just let you keep that spacious office of yours.”

–––

“Radio check, this is Angel, over, you hear me Kemosabe?” I said into my throat mic. Instead of my Russian radios, Reid acquired a couple smaller, encrypted two way radio for us to communicate with.

“Kemosabe?”

“Yeah. Texas lawman with the last name Reid, sidekick does all the actual work. Fitting, right?”

“That’s right, he was a Reid, wasn’t he, and what do you mean, you do all the work?”

“Well I do.” Reid jumped in his car seat, startled as I poked my head into his open window while hovering over the top of the car parking behind the deserted lot. What was once a thriving shopping center, was now Reid’s hole as they called it. Each officer had one, the place they would hide out from their supervisor’s patrol car. A place where they could catch up on paper work, shoot the shit with other cops, or hell, just catch a quick nap.

“Shit, you scared the crap out of me.” I turned myself around and came to a landing beside him.

“Nice suit. You look more like the Lone Ranger in all white. Don’t you think white stands out a little at night?”

“Silver was white, not the Lone Ranger.”

“You watch all our TV up there on Vulcan? Pretty well tuned into TV for someone who has only been here a year.”

As he spoke I reached back behind my head and pulled the hood attached to the back of the suit. I had always wondered what it was for but never cared until I discovered the suit’s stealth capability during my dogfight. When the dust settled, I spent some time exploring the suit Kaaren left me finding it was much more than white tights. It’s rough texture came from the organic crystals woven tightly together. The suit not only offered the same protection covered by my field, but it allowed faster solar absorption than other clothes that would otherwise block the Sun’s energy. Now my whole body could absorb light instead of just my head and hands.

Reid’s face changed as I demonstrated the best feature of all. The tiny crystals not only somehow absorbed RF, but could be tuned to absorb visible light as well. With the hood over my head, I was fully cloaked. Light entering from by back passed through the crystal fibers of the suit much like fiber optic cables, and projected the light out the opposite side. What Reid was seeing, was the light passing around me, rendering me nearly invisible.

“No shit? The Invisible Woman.”

“Not quite. It’s more like active camouflage.”

I explained how it worked as best as I understood it, comparing it with certain species of octopus that can change color and even skin texture to blend in with its surroundings. The demonstration over, I removed the hood, changing my visibility back to white. Only, I didn’t leave the suit white. Like the octopus, I could control the refraction of light bouncing off the visible crystal fibers. I touched the silver band around my left wrist right before the suit joined to the gloves and ran my finger across the surface, watching the suit lose it’s white appearance and become solid black.

“Dark Angel now huh?" Jim said, his eyes tracing up and down Kaaren's body the same way I did when I stood before her."

“Yeah, something like that. Now quit staring at me or I’m going home and you can play cowboys and indians by yourself.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to. Not sure what guys are like on your planet, but we get a littl–”

“–Reid, I get it. Just drop it ok. If I had a choice I would wear something else. “So, what’s the plan? You got a lead on him that I can use?”

“No. I have a different idea for tonight. Wanna have some fun?”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“We are spread thin with officers working overtime. They’re all on edge. What do you say we help them out a little? Remember all the codes and radio slang I taught you?”

“I remember everything.”

“Ok then, when a call comes through, get there first and do what you can.”

“Which mic do you want me monitoring?”

“Good,” Reid said, impressed I used the proper lingo, “northwest mic. It’s Christmas Eve and we usually get a lot of burglaries while everyone is out with family.”

“Yeah, I remember last year. Poor couple got robbed, lost everything.”

“I know the one you’re talking about. Came in a couple day later and dropped the charges, said they–” Reid stopped and looked up at me. I couldn’t help but smile. “Well no shit? What else has my sidekick done while pretending to be some astronaut’s sister?”

“Some other time my friend, we have work to do.” Reid stepped out of the car as I lifted up into the air, slowly at first, gradually picking up speed until I was hovering 5,000 feet over Houston. I watched the traffic pass by below me as I slowly traveled through the dark sky. The city was again illuminated for Christmas, homes and businesses alike decorated in the holiday spirit.

I shifted my hearing, trying to tune into conversations, listening for sounds of distress, but found my hearing wasn’t that sensitive. The broad range of sounds flooding the streets below was too diverse for me to hone in on anything specific. Instead I switched to infrared and swept the area before me, searching for anything out of place.

“How long after you start a shift do you get a call?”

“When I was on patrol, sometimes I wouldn’t be out of the motorpool before the radio would go nuts. It’s a Thursday night, but expect it to be a busy night.” Reid barely finished when I heard an alarm go off.

“Got a 10–33.”

To Be Continued....Episode 3 "Reunion"

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