Injury Page 21
“What’s your point?”
“I figured out why we didn’t kill him, and why the other two won’t be killed either.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “Why?”
“They’re abductees, and killing them would interfere with the experiments.”
“Where did it say that?”
“It didn’t. Not explicitly. They’re all members of the same UFO group, except this next target. The ones we can’t terminate are flagged as ‘catch and release.’ The aliens want them for their experiments. We have to get creative if we want to silence them. Drummond goes to the mental hospital; the other two are disappeared to the Agency.”
“Why didn’t I see that?”
“You wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t looking for it.”
“Carolyn Fairchild and Arnie Griffen. I saw they weren’t to be terminated.”
Michael didn’t have the other files, but he picked up the Richards file and opened it. Torque was right. Nothing in the file indicated she belonged to the same UFO group as the others. In fact, she wasn’t a member of any UFO group. He saw on her schedule that tonight she was due to attend a concert at her daughter’s school. Michael felt a twinge. She’d be dead by then.
A note in the file stated Richards was Drummond’s associate, maintained a blog, and travelled around North America doing speaking engagements. “What’s the blog about?” he asked.
Torque shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
Michael nodded, understanding. He removed his weapon from a pouch at his side and marvelled, not for the first time, at how something so small could be so deadly. The size and shape of a penlight or laser pointer, the weapon discharged a microwave beam that could penetrate walls and kill a person from over twenty metres away. Soon, when he deemed the time right, Richards’s heart would stop, and the coroner would list it as “natural causes.”
In no hurry, he waited and watched. He ran his hand through his hair, an absent-minded gesture he’d repeat often when he was waiting to kill. He glanced at Torque, expecting a remark. Torque was back to staring vacantly at the screen and hadn’t noticed.
Michael looked up when he heard the door to the house open. Two teenagers stepped onto the porch. Their light and jovial voices carried through the open windows of the van. The girl was Patty’s daughter, Michelle. The male would be Ian, the daughter’s boyfriend.
Ian said something too low for Michael to make out. It must have been funny because the girl burst out laughing. The hearty laugh jarred Torque out of his stupor, and he looked up from the monitor at Michael.
Michael continued to wait. The two teens scampered down the porch steps and jumped into a black Volkswagen Jetta parked in the driveway. Sleek and shiny, the car couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Had to be the kid’s father’s car. But perhaps not. Kids these days were spoiled. The car could very well be his.
Michael glanced at the clock on the dashboard and waited for the kids to pull out of the driveway. He’d have an hour before the husband returned. That would be plenty of time. Most of the neighbours were also at work.
The Jetta eased onto the road, the back end swinging past the van. Michael glimpsed Ian’s face as the kid straightened the wheel and then accelerated the car down the street. Neither kid spared the van a glance.
Michael checked the monitor and changed the view to the kitchen. From his periphery, he saw Torque turn back to the monitor.
Richards, her long hair tied back in a ponytail, stood in front of the kitchen island, stirring something in a bowl. She resembled her daughter. It would be easy to mistake them for sisters even though Patty was more than twice her daughter’s age.
Michael realized he was holding his breath and exhaled. Sweat trickled down his back, and he checked the thermometer: twenty-two Celsius. Hot, for the end of April in Southern Ontario, but not hot enough to make them roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning. Fortunately, there was a breeze and only slight humidity.
He started to lift the weapon, but paused. His hand drifted back to rest on his thigh. This looked wrong. It felt wrong. But he had the right target. All the information he had bore that out, the clincher being the carefully installed surveillance equipment the grunts from the Agency had placed inside the house. Michael felt another twinge. This reminded him of the Drummond job—like someone had made a mistake and he was silencing the wrong person.
“What are you waiting for?” Torque’s voice startled Michael, but he didn’t flinch. He cleared his head and focused.
Michael lifted his weapon and pointed the business end of it in the direction that put the Richards woman in its path. He clicked a button and locked it into place, keeping the weapon on and trained at her. On the monitor, he saw Richards sway. She turned off the mixer, but before she could set it down, she collapsed, dragging bowl and mixer down with her.
The bowl shattered when it hit the floor. Batter and glass sprayed everywhere. The mixer plug yanked free of the outlet, the cord snaking down on top of her.
Michael waited.
She jittered and thrashed. Then she was still.
He waited.
She didn’t move.
Michael took his cell phone from his jacket, which hung on the back of the passenger seat behind him, and speed-dialled Jim Cornell, his boss. He heard a click, and Cornell’s voicemail kicked in. When the beep sounded, Michael cleared his throat and spoke. “Hi, Jim. Valiant here. We’re done at the job site and on our way back.” He ended the call and returned the phone to his jacket.
A glance at the monitor verified Richards was still motionless. Michael stuck the weapon back into the pouch at his side. Mindful of the low ceiling, he climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the van, anxious to leave, but waited while Torque shut down the equipment and climbed into the passenger seat.
When they reached the south end of Richmond Hill, Michael’s cell phone rang. He punched the speaker button. “Valiant here.”
“Yeah, Mick. It’s Jim. I got your message. Good job.”
“I’ve gotta ask, Jim: what did these people do? They don’t seem like our typical targets.”
“You can ask, Mick, but trust me, they’re a threat. And this isn’t something we discuss over a cell phone.”
“Right.” He hung up the phone, but his doubts continued.
“I wouldn’t question Cornell if I were you,” said Torque. “If you want to ask someone anything, ask me. If I don’t know the answer, it’s because we’re not supposed to know. Are we clear?”
Michael nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Torque was right. But he persisted. “Don’t you think it’s odd, though, that we’re targeting housewives now?”
“Maybe they aren’t just housewives. It’s not our job to verify that the targets are correct. What’s up with you? I’ve never known you to question an assignment.”
“This feels different.”
Torque stared at him, one eyebrow raised, his lips pursed. “You going all new-agey on me? Have you been spending too much time on Carolyn Fairchild’s file?”
Carolyn Fairchild, one of their catch-and-release targets, was a psychic medium running a holistic practice from her home. Michael laughed, shaking his head. “Thanks for that. I needed a good chuckle.”
“Let it go, Mick. Don’t worry about if they’ve been properly vetted. You can be sure they have. Whoever the Agency targets, they no doubt earned the recognition.”
Michael didn’t reply. He exhaled, releasing tension. These were career-limiting thoughts. He needed to get over them, or risk, at the least, his career, at the most, his life and perhaps even Jessie’s life.
Two hours later, Michael pulled the van into a reserved spot in a parking garage in downtown Toronto. Torque looked around the van. “Don’t forget your jacket.”
Michael nodded, retrieved his jacket, and picked up his files. He locked the van and walked around to where Torque waited. Torque already had his ID badge clipped to his lapel. Michael pulled his own
badge out of his pocket and pinned it on.
“Have time for a drink after we report to Cornell?” Michael asked.
“Still avoiding the home front?”
“I guess. I have to make it up to her, but I don’t know how.” Even as he said it, Michael knew he wouldn’t have that drink with Torque, he wouldn’t be home for dinner, and he wouldn’t let it drop. He’d hole up in his office and do a little digging on that UFO group.
Michael mentally reviewed the list of remaining targets: John and Carolyn Fairchild, Shelly and Steven Rudolph, and Arnold Griffen. But first, he would find out why Ralph Drummond and Patty Richards were considered such threats they’d had to be silenced immediately.
###
About the Author
Writer Val Tobin also owns and operates Serenity Now Gifts and Services, an in-home business providing Reiki and other holistic services, in Newmarket, Ontario. She lives with her husband, Bob, and Scully, their cat.
Other books by Val Tobin
Angel Words by Doreen Virtue and Grant Virtue
Val contributed a story to Doreen and Grant Virtue’s Angel Words: Visual Evidence of How Words Can Be Angels in Your Life
The Valiant Chronicles Series
Book One: The Experiencers
A black-ops assassin atones for his brutal past by trying to help an alien abductee escape her fate.
Book Two: A Ring of Truth
A rogue assassin returns from the dead to rescue alien abductees and triggers Armageddon.
Injury
A young actress at the height of her career has her personal life turned upside down when a horrifying family secret makes front-page news.
Short Stories by Val Tobin
Storm Lake
A girl and her little brother struggle to save themselves when trapped in an isolated marina by flesh-eating creatures.
Connect with Val Tobin
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