“I don't care if he's meeting with Jesus Christ himself! Interrupt him and tell him the goddamned head of the goddamned intelligence committee needs to speak to him NOW!”

John B Forrest was famously unrufflable. In his long sordid political career he'd had to be. The stunned aide had never seen him like this. It was as if decades of suppressed fury were unleashed in one pinpoint moment. Apoplectic didn't even begin to describe him.

“Mr Chairman. This is ...unexpected.” The icy Mr Lynch said over the speakerphone.

“I just got a call from 'The Guardian'. They wanted my reaction to release of 'the dossier'”

“Dossier? What dossier? What did you tell them?”

“I can only imagine it was your fucking dossier. The one you're always holding over my head like a fucking sword of Damocles. I always thought you were bluffing, because you only hinted at things, but they came right out with it. The blood diamond mines, Mexican zeta connections, dosing that ACLU asshole before the televised debate, even the goddamned cheerleader! You never mentioned that but this HAS to be your file! What the FUCK???”

“Are you on speakerphone? ….are you calling from your office?” a few clicks from the other end of the line and it was evident Lynch knew exactly where the call originated and everywhere it was being routed. “Jesus CHRIST.” click.

Forrest was beside himself that the chief of the black ops division, for whom he had done so many favors.... well, actually with whom he had so many mutual ….business interests... had brusquely hung up on him. He was furiously trying to decide how to react to this unexpected rebuke when there was a slight shudder and the entire office was plunged into darkness. His aide stuck her head through the door. “I just looked into the hallway. I think the whole building is...” when she was interrupted by the flashing strobes and klaxons of the fire alarm.

They both knew the drill, so he motioned for his aide to start out while he gathered some sensitive papers and would join her at the designated area outside. Once she was gone, he sealed his safe, locked his computer, grabbed his secure Blackberry and made his way to the secure evac corridor known only to a handful on the succession list.

He was met in the sub basement corridor by a few colleagues who seemed as in the dark as he was. A uniformed guard met them halfway down the corridor and escorted them to electrical carts for travel through the miles of tunnels connecting the capitol.

“What happened?” Forrest asked as the guard shrugged.

“Have to assume the worst. Terrorist device, and work it back from there. May end up just being a transformer explosion at a power substation. You know the drill.”

Forrest nodded. He'd helped write the protocol. Assume the worst then back it down as facts warrant. He knew the guard was escorting him to a situation room while his colleagues were headed for safe locations.

His reaction to the guard turning on him with the taser would be an unnecessary pun.

When he came to, he tried to grab his splitting head, only to find his arms tightly lashed to the gurney. As he slowly gathered his wits, he heard the wail of the siren and recognized the inside of the ambulance. While dressed as EMTs, the two lurking above him looked more like soldiers.

“He's awake.” One said to the driver.

“Minutes away” came the response through the partition. The two sets of eyes regarded him closely, but dispassionately. Like researchers staring at a specimen.

The vehicle turned off its siren, then quickly negotiated a series of turns followed by ramps. They were headed down. Deep. But that was no help. They could be anywhere around the district or the greater control zone. The vehicle lurched to a stop and the back doors flew open as Bill Lynch stormed inside.

“What the FUCK were you thinking???” he bellowed, his spittle showering the face of the still restrained Intelligence Committee Chair who wanted nothing more at this instant than to wipe his face.

“I was blindsided by that goddamned newspaper. I was too shocked to even bluff, so they'll probably take my hanging up on them as confirmation. I knew that had to be your shit-file because it was so thorough. I wanted to know why you sold me out and at that point figured I was the walking dead, so I didn't really care about discretion or security protocol.”

Lynch instantly became calm. His change in demeanor was so drastic and so sudden, it was deeply unsettling.

“We didn't ….I didn't 'sell you out'. I don't know where they got that information. We're tracing logs to see if anyone else accessed our files.” He smiled to himself. “Not very damned likely.” Then he stared at the congressman. “By your reaction to ...preposterous and unsubstantiated allegations... you sold yourself out. And by your insecure call on a public telecom network you implicated US.” He frowned, regarded the congressman for a moment, and a slight grin formed. “You were right about one thing.”

The congressman stared up at him from his lashed gurney, and tried to read his eyes. They were expressionless. And terrifying.

“You are the walking dead.” Lynch turned and left the ambulance, calling over his shoulder “ICE him!”

John Birch Forrest had not lived an exemplary life. If it were to flash before him in his final moments, he expected all of his dirty tricks and strategic betrayals ...or at least the highlights... the planted kiddie porn found in the car of that former school teacher who ran against him for city council... What a feather in the cap of the officer who made the routine traffic stop for the 'broken' tail light. His star rose too and eventually he became head of the state highway patrol and a very useful ally. The young campaign aide who became even more useful when he was able to pin her underage pregnancy and eventual suicide on that irritating minister who tried to rally community groups to oppose his state senate race. The former ACLU lawyer and peace corps activist who ran against him for congress and tripped his brains out during a live televised debate. The strategic alliances he made on getting to the capitol, proving that he understood the game and well understood the concept of 'the enemy of my enemy'. It had proved more lucrative than even his oversized ambitions could have imagined. And it appeared his elaborate jenga tower of deceit and betrayal was about to crash down on him. He wondered, surprised by his calm resignation, how they would dispose of his body. So he asked.

His 'handlers' laughed. One turned to him. “You've been watching too many movies congressman. We're not going to kill you. ….you're just... well, speaking of movies... do you remember what they did to the guy in Star Wars? Kind of vacuum packed him for storage?” Forrest nodded. “That's what we mean by iced. Just stored away safe. Only we don't have that sci-fi stuff...”

“...Carbonite” the other muttered.

“Yeah. Like that. We just have to do it the old fashioned way.” And with that he turned the valve on the I.V. and the world went away.

“What do you mean we can't access the logs? Of course they're encrypted, it's a seclayer5 system. What? Re-encrypted? How is that possible? Well it's your job to find out!”

Lynch slammed his phone down. They would be back at C&C in under 10 minutes. If that pencil neck didn't fully grasp how unacceptable the situation was from the phone call, Lynch would make it painfully clear in person.

It should have taken them 10 minutes to return, but every traffic light turned red just as they arrived at the intersection. Lynch had noticed but not thought anything of it at first. After the sixth light turned red only moments after turning green and just as they arrived at the intersection, Lynch took notice.

“Someone's fucking with us” he said to the driver. He looked around at the empty intersection and motioned to the driver. “Fuck it. Run it.”

No sooner had they passed through the intersection than they heard the blip of the siren. Lynch was roiling with disbelief. The driver eyed him in the mirror and he nodded. “...pull over”

As the motorcycle cop walked up to the drivers window, Lynch rolled down the rear window. “Didn't you see the plates?”

The officer stopped and regarded him. Expressionless.

“You DID make the plate. Yet you still pulled us over.”

The officer unbuttoned her holster and turned to Lynch. “I owe you no explanations. I'm doing my job and this fleet vehicle was reported stolen minutes after an ...incident... at a congressional office complex...”

“I'm well aware of the incident. We're just returning from there with critical data. Something's up. Something big. First the explosion... and then the stolen vehicle report....” Lynch fished for his credentials. The nondescript DOD credentials he kept for outsiders. The officer took it and nodded. “Whoever is doing this is up to something BIG. We don't know how big yet, and they're trying to stop us. First the stolen vehicle APB, and...” he pointed to the traffic light which had resumed normal functioning. “did you notice how that light turned green and seconds later when we got there it turned red again? Somebody's fu... excuse me... someone is tampering with the traffic control system. And I'm certain with the surveillance camera network too. I know, because that is MY network. I'm trying to get back to our command and control center with vital information about the congressional office explosion and you are tying us up with this stop. You are being PLAYED officer. We are BOTH being played. And I want to know by who.”

The cop listened calmly and gave no indication on whether or not she was buying this when her radio cackled 'all available units backup requested Wyoming and K. Shots fired. Officer down.'

The cop startled and looked around at the placid intersection of Wyoming Avenue and K Street. She turned to Lynch. “We ARE being played. They'll come in with guns blazing. Get the hell out of here and try to get to the bottom of this. I'll try to talk them down when they get here.” She gave the fender two hard thumps and the driver sped off.

Those little shits overplayed their hand. They're not as bright as they think.

His smugness was shortlived as it became apparent that they were being monitored by SIMon and the police and national guard were waiting for them everywhere they turned.

Triggering a possible terrorist incident at the congressional office complex seemed like a handy way to get Forrest alone for rendition, but it also activated all the security protocols, so they were not just being pursued by police, but military forces as well.

Their vehicle was well protected against police rifles, but Lynch did not want to face down anti-armor weaponry. His driver was the best. He managed to thread the needle and avoid the tightening security net. Lynch had himself let off in a back alley so quickly that it seemed that the car had rushed through to avoid main streets. He had instructed the driver to avoid capture as long as possible and when that was no longer possible to drive into the fussilade inflicting maximum damage and buy him time while they pored through the wreckage. The driver was well trained. He gave just the slightest nod of acknowledgment at the order of his suicide mission. Lynch scanned the alley to confirm the absence of cameras, and jumped into a nearby dumpster, burying himself under the bags and formulating his next move.