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A member of the agent’s team pairs up with each police cruiser, overseeing as they rewind through their footage until we can see the cruiser in question from multiple camera views. There is no audio, but we can clearly see a uniformed police officer lure Six over, move to hand her a clipboard, and then stab her in the arm with a syringe, before casually placing her in the vehicle and driving away.
The other officers on site seem genuinely surprised about their colleague, who is an actual officer, but not assigned to this case. They give us his name and badge number, and they also help us track down the cruiser with GPS. By the time we locate the car, it is showing up in the same airfield that Jackson chased Bennet’s father to.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The entire department and most of the FBI cars load up to chase the rogue cop down. Bennet and I ride with Tova, the others riding with another agent directly behind us. As fast as we are driving, a huge convoy of lights and sirens clearing the way, we make it to the airfield in only ten minutes, but there are no planes to be seen. In the distance, a small jet disappears into the horizon.
The officer that kidnapped Six, Donnie Madison, is recalled to the station. Since he does not know that we are on to his deception, he returns to his captain, only to be detained.
Agent Tova and one of his partners spend some time interrogating him, but when they come out, they shake their heads. They got nothing.
“He’s lawyering up.”
“Is there a way to get eyes on any Atlanta area airfields or the lab itself? If it’s BioCere that took her, it seems like that’s where they’d be most likely to go, unless they got very smart and took her to another location. But it’s our best bet for now,” Bennet suggests.
“I’ll make some calls and see what we can do,” Tova says, and walks away, leaving the five of us sitting in the hallway with our heads in our hands.
Bennet pulls his phone out. “I’m calling Tony.”
Lukas leans over to me and whispers. “What’s the likelihood that he did that on purpose?” He gestures to the door to the interrogation room.
The open door.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I stand up immediately and walk into the room where Officer Madison sits calmly on one side of a metal table.
Oh, how convenient, the camera isn’t even on. Thanks, Derrick.
My eyes cut toward the camera in the corner of the room that is pointed to the table. Madison looks up, his eyes widening when he puts the pieces together.
My fist collides with the officer’s face in a burst of spit, blood, and teeth. He sways in his seat.
Micah and Jackson come into the room.
“Damn, dude. You didn’t waste any time, did you?” Jackson looks ready to join the party, rolling up his sleeves.
Micah cracks his knuckles. “Bennet’s going to get Tony to delete any security footage, so no worries there.”
“It wasn’t on when I walked in,” I tell him.
His eyebrows raise, impressed. “Nice.” He turns his attention to the officer. “So, Donnie, how do those teeth taste?”
The sorry excuse for a man spits defiantly at the ground. Jackson laughs maniacally. What the hell?
Casually, still laughing, Jackson pulls out a chair and turns it around, sitting backwards.
“Dude, let me tell you how this is going to go down. You really don’t want to fuck around with these guys—if that isn’t apparent by just looking at them, I’ll tell you why. Micah here is a champion boxer and can bench press 350lbs without working up a sweat. And Luis, well, Luis is just a scary motherfucker who will fucking end you if you don’t tell us where our girlfriend is. And me? I’ll sit back and make snarky commentary and laugh at how pathetic you are when you get beaten so badly, you’ll need to be fed through a tube for the rest of your life.”
Micah and I stand on opposite sides of the sneering man, folding our arms and looking down at him like we’d rehearsed this.
“Have anything to tell us?” Jackson asks him.
He spits again, this time on my shoe. I raise an eyebrow at Micah. You want a turn?
Micah pulls back Madison’s chair and lands a heavy hit to his stomach. Madison lurches forward, groaning and coughing, until he throws up.
I don’t even bother to stand back to avoid the splash of puke on my boots. Instead, I grab the back of Madison’s neck and hold it so he’s looking at the fluorescent ceiling lights.
Swiftly pressing his head back down, I bring my knee up and smash him in the face. The crunch of bone and spray of blood from his nose is incredibly satisfying.
