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Hawthorne, FL
14 February
2245 Local Time
“So, rookie, you said you’re ex-military?” Corporal Dallas Edmunds asked as they sat parked in the Chevy Tahoe along the side of U.S. 20.
“Army,” Deputy Freddie “Kruger” Mack replied as he scanned the empty two-lane highway. It was his second ride out of the Police Academy in the Field Training Program for the Alachua County Sheriff’s office. Corporal Edmunds was his field-training officer, showing him the ropes of police work in his new career after just over a decade of war in hotspots all over the world.
“No shit? I was in the Army for a little while, I went to Ranger School,” Edmunds said proudly. Kruger looked over at the Corporal with a raised red eyebrow. Although he was a Corporal, he didn’t look older than nineteen and he was overweight. Kruger questioned the accuracy of the statement.
“What happened?” Kruger asked.
“Hurt my knee and took a medical discharge,” Edmunds said, shaking his head and grimacing as if retelling an old war story. “I wanted to press on but they said I might not ever walk again if I kept pushing.”
“Interesting,” Kruger replied, holding back a grin. “That’s terrible.”
“What did you do in the Army? Did you know any Rangers?” Edmunds asked.
“One or two,” Kruger replied. “I just did my time and got out. Nothing special.”
“Were you a clerk or something?” Edmunds asked with a chuckle. “No shame in that.”
“Something like that,” Kruger said. To avoid the onslaught of “how many people did you kill” questions, he had downplayed his service since joining the Sheriff’s Department, but he had been anything but a clerk. He had started in the 75th Rangers Battalion before being recruited for the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment – Delta. Nicknamed “Delta Force,” the 1st SFOD-D was the Army’s elite counterterrorism unit. Kruger had served as both a sniper and interrogator in his time with Delta before moving on to a top-secret unacknowledged government program called Project Archangel.
Project Archangel had been the answer to the last President’s quest for a counterterrorism unit with plausible deniability. Reporting directly to the Secretary of Defense, the unit had its own contingent of Special Forces Operators, Close Air Support Aircraft, and helicopters. It could be deployed to anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice without U.S. Military involvement. Kruger had served with the unit until just six months earlier when it was disbanded after its director was murdered by a Chinese spy.
Although Kruger had since been offered several high paying jobs working for government contractors, he decided to hang up his combat boots and move back home to Hawthorne. Despite starting over in a new career, Kruger thought police work would be a rewarding transition given his previous background.
“Well, you’ll be on the front lines now, so don’t worry,” Edmunds said as he looked up in the rear-view mirror at the pair of approaching headlights. “Watch this guy.”
Kruger turned to look back at the headlights. He appeared to be drifting side to side on the lonely four-lane highway. Edmunds put the Police Interceptor Tahoe into gear and they accelerated to catch up as the SUV passed them.
They followed the car for a mile, watching him drift out of his lane and back onto the fog line. The SUV was doing ten over the speed limit, oblivious to the Tahoe following a few car lengths behind.
“Ok, rookie, call it in,” Corporal Dallas Edmunds said as they maneuvered behind the swerving Cadillac Escalade.
“Ninety-eight, forty-eight, Central,” Kruger called on the Tahoe’s radio.
“10-71,” the female dispatcher replied, indicating the channel was clear for Kruger to proceed.
“Traffic stop, Highway Twenty near Southeast Sixty-Fifth, white Cadillac Escalade occupied times one,” Kruger said. He had used tactical radios his whole career, but he still had to reference his cheat sheet for the police codes. It was like learning a whole new language.
“10-4,” the dispatcher replied quickly. To Kruger, it almost sounded like she said “tin foil.”
Edmunds reached down and turned on the Tahoe’s emergency lights and spotlight. “Once we get stopped, you can get out, but I’ll do the talking as always,” Edmunds said. As part of the Field Training Program, Kruger’s syllabus called for observation only for the first ten rides. After that, he would gradually be given more responsibility as he progressed through the forty-five ride program.
“Roger,” Kruger responded.
The SUV continued to wobble down the highway, seemingly oblivious to the police lights behind him. Edmunds chirped the siren several times until the driver looked up and realized he was being pulled over. He slowed down and moved to the shoulder, parking his front right tire in the high grass as he came to a stop.
Edmunds stopped two car lengths behind the SUV and turned the wheel to the left. As soon as the car was stopped, Kruger was out of the vehicle and approaching as Edmunds fought with his seatbelt and rolled out of the car.
The Escalade rocked as the driver stumbled out of his vehicle to meet them. Edmunds and Kruger both went for their weapons instinctively as the man exited. The man was huge. Kruger guessed he was at least six foot, five inches and well north of three hundred and fifty pounds.
“Sir, stay in the vehicle!” Edmunds ordered as he stopped at the hood of his Tahoe.
“I didn’t do nothing!” the man yelled as he put his hands up in the air.
“Sir, I need you to calm down,” Edmunds said. The man stood at the edge of the Escalade’s open door with his hands still up.
“Sir, step back here with me,” Edmunds ordered. Kruger watched the man’s hands as he kept his hand on his weapon. The man stumbled toward the rear of the SUV and approached the two deputies.
“I didn’t do nothing,” the man repeated as he stopped in front of the Tahoe’s push bar.
“Sir, I’m Corporal Edmunds and this is Deputy Mack. The reason we pulled you over is that you were swerving in and out of your lane back there. What’s your name, sir?” Edmunds asked as the large man leaned against the push bar.
“Thomas,” the man slurred.
“Alright, Thomas, have you had anything to drink tonight?” Edmunds asked.
“I don’t have to answer shit,” the man said, waving his right hand as he held his balance with his left. Kruger maintained his distance as he moved to form the “tactical L” with Edmunds.
“Ok, do you have your license on you, sir?” Edmunds asked.
Kruger watched Edmunds’s right hand draw the Taser X26 from its cross-draw holster on his duty belt as the man’s eyes widened and he tried to lunge forward. Before he could intervene, he heard the pop of the Taser cartridge firing the two prongs at the large man, followed by the cringe-inducing crackle of the Taser firing. Kruger remembered from the four-hour class that the sound was bad; meaning at least one of the prongs had missed and was not completing the circuit.
Edmunds backed up as the man charged toward him. Kruger saw that one of the Taser’s prongs had embedded in his chest while the other hung loosely from the Taser. The man swatted at the wire, breaking it as he charged Edmunds.
Kruger pulled out his ASP baton and extended it as the man took a swing at Edmunds. The man missed, but Edmunds tripped as he jumped back. He grunted as he hit the asphalt behind him.
“You’re gonna want to stop resisting, bub,” Kruger said coolly as the man turned to run away.
“I’m not going back to jail!” the man bellowed as he turned to run away.
As the man tried to lumber away, Kruger instantly caught up with him, striking the back of the man’s left leg with the baton and taking his leg out from underneath him. The man tripped and rolled forward onto his face.
“Fuck you!” the man yelled as he screamed in pain.
“Put your hands behind your back,” Kruger ordered. The man resisted as Kruger landed on top of him, driving his knee into the back of the man’s neck and pinning the man to the ground.
“I ain’t going back to jail,” the man said as he tried to push off.
“I said, stop resisting,” Kruger repeated as he grabbed the man’s arm and put him in a shoulder lock.
Edmunds arrived as the man groaned in pain. Kruger looked up to see the laser dot from the Taser pointed at the man’s massive back. He had apparently installed a fresh cartridge as Kruger subdued the suspect.
“Stand back, I’ll Tase him!” Edmunds yelled.
“I think he’s under control now,” Kruger said calmly as he torqued the man’s shoulder, causing him to grunt.
“Yes!” the man pled. “Please, you’re hurting me!”
Kruger pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his belt and cuffed the man’s arm.
“Put your other hand behind your back,” Kruger ordered. “Please.”
The man complied. Edmunds pulled out his own set of handcuffs and linked them to Kruger’s pair. They helped the man to his feet while advising him of his rights per Miranda and escorted him to the back of the cruiser.
Two more units arrived on scene and helped Kruger and Edmunds secure the scene. After running his name through the FBI’s National Crime Information Center, they found that he had outstanding warrants for numerous assault and battery charges as well as grand theft auto.
“Nice job, rookie,” Edmunds said as the tow truck arrived to tow the man’s Escalade. “Now you get to see the booking process first hand. I hope you like paperwork.”
“Great,” Kruger replied.
“I need my lawyer!” the man yelled from the back seat as they drove away.
“You’ll get to talk to your lawyer once you’re booked,” Edmunds said as they headed to the nearby hospital to get the man treatment before bringing him to the jail.
Kruger felt his personal phone vibrating in his shirt pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. It was an old friend he hadn’t talked to since Project Archangel had been disbanded.
“Coolio, what’s up, buddy?” Kruger answered. Julio Meeks had been Project Archangel’s most capable cyber analyst. Last Kruger had heard, he had taken a job doing Cyber Security with the State Department.
“Hey, sir, have you been watching the news?” Meeks asked.
“No, we’ve been pretty busy tonight, what’s up?” Kruger asked.
“POTUS is being held hostage somewhere in the Pacific,” Meeks replied in a hushed voice.
“I want my lawyer! I need an ambulance! This is police brutality!” the man in the back of the Tahoe yelled.
“Hey Coolio, hold on a second,” Kruger said to Meeks before he held the phone down and looked back at the prisoner. “Look, bub, I’m going to give you one warning. I am on the phone. If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going stop this cruiser and pepper spray your balls.”
“We can’t do that,” Edmunds whispered. “You shouldn’t threaten—”
Edmunds was stopped cold when he saw the look on Kruger’s face. “Ok then,” Edmunds replied timidly.
“Now, what happened, Coolio?” Kruger asked as he returned to the phone call.
“POTUS was on a speaking tour in Taiwan and we were hit with several attacks. They evacuated her in Air Force One and the jet diverted to Midway Island,” Meeks said.
“I knew about the attacks earlier, but I had no idea they diverted. But why are you telling me this, Coolio? You know there’s nothing I can do,” Kruger replied. “I mean it’s good to hear from you, but what’s going on?”
“Well, we’ve been monitoring all the Search and Rescue satellites for anything we can find, and while I can’t talk about that part on the phone, there is something I did think you would find interesting,” Meeks said.
“What?”
“Remember the survival watches from the company?” Meeks asked.
“Yeah,” Kruger replied. Project Archangel had made a large purchase of survival watches for the team members. The watches included an emergency encrypted satellite locator beacon and survival watchband with various escape tools. A lot of the operators had turned theirs back in, but some pilots and operators had kept them as parting gifts from Project Archangel.
“Well, while we were looking at the SARSAT channels, I decided to ping our old server from the company to see if it’s still active,” Meeks said in a whisper. “And I found a locator going off!”
“No shit?”
“Yeah!” Meeks said excitedly, still trying to keep a low voice. “On the same island!”
“Whose is it?”
“I ran the serial number and it came up as Ironman’s watch,” Meeks replied.
Kruger sat speechless as Edmunds eyed him while they drove to the hospital. Charles “Ironman” Steele had been the fallen director of Project Archangel. Kruger tried to remember what happened to Ironman’s watch as he held the phone loosely in his hand. And then it hit him.
“Spectre?” Kruger asked after a brief pause. Former Project Archangel pilot Cal “Spectre” Martin had used the features of the survival watchband to escape the custody of Chinese spies and rescue an FBI agent at the hospital. They had tracked him down using the locator in the watch when Ironman had gone missing.
“If he still has the watch, then yeah,” Meeks replied.
“Have you told anyone about this?” Kruger asked.
“Not yet, sir, that’s why I called you,” Meeks said.
“Good, tell no one, I’ll call you back soon,” Kruger said.
“Ok, boss, will do,” Meeks replied.
“Thanks,” Kruger replied as he hung up the phone.
“Anything I should know about?” Edmunds inquired.
“I’m not sure yet,” Kruger responded. He was still trying to wrap his head around what Meeks had just told him. The President being held hostage was news enough, but Spectre was in the middle of it? What the hell was he doing with the President in Taiwan? It’s almost not surprising, Kruger thought. Trouble seems to find that man wherever he goes.
“I may need to take leave,” Kruger said finally. “Soon.”