Fall Guys

PxHere

DuPont was back at his desk. The trip to the country had seemed worthwhile, at first. Now he was having doubts. He picked up his phone.

"Beth, you're still here? Good, please come by my office."

DuPont sat staring at his desk, he was dead tired and the chance of going home to sleep in his own bed was looking slim. His gaze went from the desk to his sofa, he'd be sleeping there tonight, if he slept at all.

He looked up at the tap on his door, Beth Chapman, former member of the Office of Naval Intelligence stepped into the room. She had a folder in hand. DuPont wondered what it was.

"So, we were out in the country today, an abandoned farmhouse ..."

"From which you brought back a single 7.62 NATO cartridge, a couple of trash bags of garbage, and not much else."

DuPont nodded, "You're up to speed then, good. Any thoughts?"

"A few."

Chapman pulled a chair around to sit beside DuPont, she placed the folder on his desk. "Forensics lifted a single partial print off that cartridge, they're running it through AFIS¹ now. That might take a while."

DuPont sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, as they search, the trail goes cold. Any DNA on that trash?"

"The lab guys aren't real hopeful. Seems the local teens use the place as a party hangout. Some of that trash is probably months old."

"Damn it," as DuPont sat back up, his phone rang. "Excuse me, Beth."

"DuPont."

"Yes Sir, we've got a report that our shooters might have returned to the warehouse district."

"Bullshit!" DuPont barked into the phone. "How do we know this isn't another set-up like before?"

"Sir, we've had surveillance up since the shooting. A van pulled in to one of the abandoned factories, three men got out. If they were armed, we didn't see them carry anything into the building."

"They may have prepositioned ..." DuPont stopped talking and listened.

"Can we get our people in, unseen?"

"I'll be there in an hour, can't be any quicker with the traffic out there. Thanks, and be f**king careful, Teddy."

He hung up and looked at Chapman, she asked, "What's up? Our shooters?"

"Maybe. A surveillance drone spotted a beat up van entering the warehouse district. No businesses still up and running there. Drone saw them cut the lock on a building. Suspicious as hell if you ask me."

Chapman was already moving for the door, "Can I come with?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you in the garage, gear up, this could get nasty."

Walter Rostock looked at his two companions, both of whom were high on something. He shook his head, he'd told them to stay clean until they left the country. Stupid bastards.

"Leo, Jack, there should be something for us in that locker." He said, indicating a storage locker over by an old rusty turret lathe. The locker was pretty banged up, but the lock was new.

He tossed the key to Jack Wilkins, who seemed the more sober of the two. He went to the locker, and after fumbling briefly with the lock, got it open.

"Gotta gym bag here. Nice, feels kinda heavy."

Rostock walked over, "What's in it?"

Leo Rogers, who had been in the Army before being thrown out, looked around, something didn't feel right.

"Hey Walt, hold off ..."

As DuPont and Chapman headed for the warehouse district, his cell phone went off.

"Yeah? F**k, you're kidding? Alright, get some people on scene, be careful, this whole things stinks to high heaven."

Chapman looked over, "Something go wrong?"

"Yeah, the f**king warehouse blew up."

Johansen headed through security, bypassing the metal detector after showing his credentials. He wondered if Morgan was at his desk yet. It had been almost a week since the latest development in the case. It was getting harder to pretend that anything given to him was news.

After all, he knew what was going to happen, if everything went as planned. So far it had.

Walking down the corridor to his office, he ran into Beth Chapman. He said hello, she nodded and hurried down the hallway.

He walked into the office and nodded to his personal assistant, "Anything new, Ben?"

"Yes Sir, the Director has a meeting scheduled for 0830, you're invited."

"Wonderful, another meeting." then Johansen entered his office and turned his computer on.

First thing he noticed was the email from the Director's executive assistant, a couple of emails further down and he saw what he was looking for, he glanced at the subject line then kept scrolling.

The subject line had been "Warehouse Explosion." He didn't open it, if security was monitoring his system, and they were known to do that, he didn't want to show any unusual interest in that event. After all, he had been the cause.

Jack Morgan wasn't at his desk yet. He'd come up on a traffic accident on his way to work. Traffic was totally backed up, he called his assistant.

"Hi Jennie, it's Jack Morgan, yeah, I'm going to be late. Some idiot who doesn't know how to drive caused an accident. Can't go around, can't back track. Anything going on I might miss?"

"Yes Mr. Morgan, the Director has called a meeting for 0830."

"Well, it'll be a miracle if I make it. Can you go and take good notes for me?"

"Will do, boss. I'll see you when you get in."

Morgan put his cell phone away. He still wasn't really happy with Johansen. Though it really was a good idea to eliminate Rostock, Wilkins, and Rogers, he still didn't like it. Though the men all had criminal records, they were veterans after a fashion. All had been soldiers, all had been thrown out for various reasons. But they had served, they had been upstanding citizens before life had screwed them.

He remembered Johansen saying, "Come on Jack, you know how important this mission is. We need to rattle some cages, get some of these bastards out in the open. Do you want to take the chance that things will change on their own? You know that ain't gonna happen, man!"

Johansen was probably right, but Morgan still felt dirty. Some of those men they'd ambushed were just doing their jobs. He'd said as much to Johansen.

"Didn't fly at Nuremburg, ain't gonna fly now."

Johansen and his damned history lessons, ah, traffic is moving, good.

¹ Automated Fingerprint Identification System, sometimes known as IAFIS, the initial "I" standing for "Integrated." Government loves systems which are "integrated," DAMHIK.