Page 86 of Smoke and Shadows
Chaos reigned. Bodies fell. Some just dropped, and others started to convulse.
Viktor put his mask on and entered the first theatre, already empty of moviegoers. Some victims were sitting by the corner gasping and some were flat on the floor. He picked up a young girl, who looked no more than ten, who was already drooling profusely. He carried her out the back exit to get her some fresh air. He took out his stash of atropine injections and stabbed one straight to her chest.
An EMT approached him warily. Viktor yanked his mask off.
“It’s nerve gas, but I’m hoping we keep this under the radar to avoid a mass hysteria,” he informed the first responder. “I’m going back in. Are you guys stocked with atropine?”
The EMT nodded.
“Good,” Viktor said as he affixed his mask. He turned around and ran back inside.
Marissa saton the tailgate of the Ford Explorer, watching agents from FBI and DHS, including local law enforcement, manage the scene now classified as a terrorist attack. Viktor and the Guardians were forced to wear FBI jackets to define their jurisdiction. Herself? She was invisible. The CIA always was. But Yeager already informed her that since she was seen on the news directing emergency personnel that she was an agent for the DHS. At least, that was how it was going to be played.
There were eleven fatalities and about twenty were taken to the hospital—majority of them under the age of twenty. The attack was going to have some serious backlash. The news agencies already caught wind that it was a nerve gasattack, and all speculations were pointing either to Syria or Al-Qaeda. Wouldn’t everyone be surprised that the attack was carried out by men who had once sworn to protect the country?
The only evidence was the video of a man fitting Logan's build going into the maintenance room where the FBI hazmat team had found the nerve gas canister. No link to Owen Reed meant no connection to Stuart Kwon. All connections to Kwon were all through HUMINT, which would carry no weight with DHS and FBI given that the mess with Al-Qaeda was still fresh, and the evidence to them more tangible. It would be interesting how the agencies were going to spin this to both the President and the people.
Viktor was bringing the agents-in-charge from DHS and FBI up to speed. And from their expression, Viktor wasn’t holding back any punches in telling them how to do their job. After a few minutes, he returned and braced a hand against the side of the SUV, leaning into her.
He rubbed his face with his other hand in frustration. “They’re taking the lead for now, which they should have done in the first place. It isn’t the job of the CIA to pursue domestic terrorism.”
Marissa shrugged. She agreed, what else could she say?
“I told them to stop depending primarily on open-source intelligence because the enemy is bypassing digital and analog footprints, preferring human assets to move intel via courier or face-to-face meetings,” Viktor said. “Most of our leads come from informants, Matsuda and Morgan. Hell, we wouldn’t have known about Owen Reed if Morgan didn’t tip us off on that.”
“That was a lucky break.”
“Yeah? We might not have more of those,” Viktor said. “That’s why I told them to get their heads out of their asses, keep off the donuts, and do some legwork. There’s information out there, they just need to know where to look.”
“Wish they had more people like Tim.”
Viktor smiled wryly. “Yeah, Burns is the shit.”
“So,” Marissa said, eyeing Viktor seriously. “What was that crazy move you did? Putting yourself in front of the barrel of a gun?”
Viktor quirked a brow in amusement.
“What the hell was that?” Marissa half-yelled into his face.
“Calm down, kitten,” Viktor murmured. “His gun’s safety was engaged.”
“And how sure were you?”
Viktor huffed, sounding offended that she would question his judgment. “I could see the red dot on his gun. I’m familiar with that model. It wouldn’t have fired.”
“Still, that was pretty suicidal,” Marissa mumbled.
Viktor, in a departure from keeping it professional while on the job, pulled her head to his chest. She punched him on the side. He grunted, but didn’t say anything else.
“Though I’ll admit,” she continued, “that was pretty badass.”
Owen Reed stoodin the shadows of the Cinemaplex parking lot. Most of it was cordoned off, but he blended well with the curious onlookers that gathered around to observe the crime scene. He and his men had to lay low for a while, probably even alter their appearance. He had credit cards and covers already set up so it wouldn’t be too difficult.
His eyes drifted to the Ford Explorer parked in front of the Cinemaplex. The first to arrive. He wasn’t surprised to see Marissa Cole. He figured when Fletcher and Tyrell didn’t show up at the rendezvous that they must have gotten caught. What surprised him was the more than friendly relationship between Baran and Ms. Cole.
Owen Reed filed this information for future use.
Memorandum#1573737