They heard a key enter the lock. Father Michaels feigned sleep while Whiting sat watching over him. An orderly walked in and strolled up to the reporter. Whiting pretended not to notice the man. “It’s bedtime,” the orderly stated. “Don’t worry about him, Bradley. He’ll be fine.”
“You have no idea,” the reporter mumbled.
Whiting stood up, faking obedience. He walked up beside the orderly and promptly elbowed the man in the jaw. After the man fell, he kicked him repeatedly. Father Michaels jumped out of bed and rushed over to the fighting men. The two inmates kept kicking the helpless man until he stopped moving. With their first obstacle out of the way, the priest grabbed the keys off the dead man’s belt. They made their way out of the building, Father Michaels leading the way. What little resistance they did meet, the priest took care of quietly. Whiting was awed by the display of violence before him. Who knew the priest was capable of this?
The duo left the building, taking the orderly’s car. They left the scene heading for Whiting’s apartment. Now it was time for them to formulate a game plan.
Christian arrived at the police station after dark. He walked inside and asked the first officer he saw where Peppers was. After being told to hold on, he had a seat and waited. A few minutes later, Peppers walked over. When he saw Christian sitting there, his eyes went wide. Peppers tried to hide his surprise as he approached the eternal. “Can I help you,” he asked Christian.
“I’ve come to turn myself in,” was the calm reply.
“Quit playing dumb. You know damn well who I am.”
“Fine, but one question first. Why turn yourself in? You seem like the type of guy who could elude capture.”
“To clear my name.”
“You have evidence to prove you didn’t do it?”
“Then how are you gonna clear your name?”
“By destroying the evidence.”
“Ok,” Peppers said while reaching for his gun. “I don’t think I can let you do that.”
“Well, I know you can’t stop me. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and give me what I want? I would hate to have to kill you.”
Peppers pulled his gun. “Put your hands on your head,” he yelled. The rest of the station went quiet, looking at the spectacle. Christian sighed and stood up. “You don’t want to do this,” he warned.
“You take one more step and I’ll shoot.”
Christian decided to have fun with him and took a step forward. Peppers pulled the trigger. The bullet hit him in the forehead and bounced off. He smiled at the shocked cop. “I warned you,” he said as he connected with a kick to the detective’s nose. Peppers fell back, slamming his head into a desk. The rest of the officers awoke from their shock and began shooting Christian.
He shrugged the bullets off. As he came up to the other officers, he struck them dead with one blow. A few of the smarter ones ran, and he let them go. If they made trouble for him later, he’d deal with it then. Searching for his file took too long, so he just set the building on fire. With the arson complete, he went out the back door to see if any of the cops were stupid enough to stick around. He didn’t find them, but he did find DS. “What the hell are you doing here,” he asked the assassin.
“Trying to stay on your good side.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“I took care of the cops that you didn’t get.”
“Bullshit. You’d never take an innocent life.”
“I showed them an FBI badge and told them this was a training exercise.”
“And they bought it?”
“No,” DS replied laughing. “They thought I was in on it with you and pulled their guns on me. Now they are but dust in the wind.”
“While I appreciate the effort, kid, I’m not going to change my mind. Seriously, stay away from me.”
“No. Stay away or I’ll kill you.”
Whiting opened the door to his apartment. The young man, the one who sold him the bomb, entered. He looked over at the two escapees. Bradley, he knew, was trouble, but what was a priest doing here? “Why ain’t you behind bars,” he asked Whiting.
“Don’t worry about it. We got some stuff we need you to get for us.”
Whiting handed over a list. The man looked it over. “That’s a lot of stuff. Gonna cost you a lot too.”
“When can we get our stuff?”
“The custom stuff’ll take a few, but the rest I already got. But there’s one thing I gotta take care of first.”
The man shoved Whiting up against the wall. He pulled a scanner out of his jacket and ran it over Whiting. When he was done, he shoved the reporter down to the floor. Then he walked over to the priest. Father Michaels got up and let him run the scanner over him. “What was that about,” Bradley demanded.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” the man replied angrily.
Whiting was upset. He felt bigger than he was with the priest at his back. Not thinking he should have to put up with that kind of abuse, he shoved the man in return. The supplier didn’t budge. Before Whiting’s eyes could register the movement, the man pulled a gun and shot the reporter between the eyes. Bradley’s body fell backwards, his brains decorating the wall behind him.
“Tomorrow. Here. Midnight. Make sure you have the money,” he instructed the priest.
Father Michaels simply nodded his head and watched the man walk out of the door.