Milwaukee Deep

Sam sat in Jensen’s office deep in thought. His mind was on his wife and his two children as they travelled the span of the country to San Francisco.

He was interrupted when Jensen rushed into the room.

“Jesus, Sam, there are two guys outside demanding to speak to you – they say they’re with the CIA, for God’s sakes.”

“What?”

“The CIA - they’re in reception now – they’re waiting for you. They know you’re here!”

“Phil, just relax. Calm down, everything will be all right. Now go back outside and bring them in here. Let’s show them we’ve got nothing to hide.”

Jensen nodded his head.

“Okay, all right, I’ll be right back.”

“By the way don’t come back in with them,” Sam added, “Wait a couple of minutes and then come in with an X-ray of a leg, okay?”

“A leg?”

“Yes, a leg. I twisted my knee, got it?”

“Good thinking. Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

When Sam was alone he pulled out his weapon and instinctively checked it to see if it was loaded. He put it back into his holster as the door opened.

“Special Agent Sam Crease, I’m Agent Martin Simmons and this here is Agent Thomas Cole, thanks for seeing us.”

“It’s my pleasure, gentlemen, now what can I do for you?” Sam asked as Jensen remained outside.

“Agent Crease, my understanding was that you were involved recently with a missing person’s case. A Michael Burton was found in Florida, and you brought him back to New York. Is that correct?”

“It is. I returned him to his family. Why, is there a problem?”

“When did you last see Michael Burton, Agent Crease?”

“That would have been two days ago. I dropped him off at his home to reunite him with his wife. I was planning to call on him tomorrow morning and continue with the investigation.”

“What investigation?” asked Agent Cole.

“Obviously you’re not too familiar with the case. Michael Burton was found a few days ago after being missing for the past eighteen years. It’s important to continue with my investigation to determine where he’s been for that period of time. I’m somewhat curious as to know what he has been doing for all those years,” Sam replied.

“Well we know what he’s been doing, Crease,” said Agent Simmons, “That’s why we’re here.”

“You do?” asked Sam, “Well what?”

“Crease, what we tell you here and now stays in this room, is that understood? This information is highly classified.”

“Sure I understand,” said Sam.

“Michael Burton is a terrorist, Agent Crease. For the past eighteen years he has been living in the Caribbean entrenched in a terrorist cell devoted to biological weaponry. We have it under high authority that his return to the United States is a direct attempt to engineer a terrorist act that will jeopardise the lives of many Americans.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, Crease, we’re not. We have intel on Burton, intel that confirms that he is harbouring a deadly virus that will, if released, kill every American on the eastern seaboard.”

“But that’s impossible. I’ve met this guy. He isn’t a terrorist.”

“Crease, this man is capable of killing every American in a five thousand mile radius - the biological weapons he and his team have been working on for at least a decade are the deadliest the world has seen – so don’t tell me he isn’t a terrorist,” countered Cole.

Sam walked over slowly to Jensen’s leather chair and sat down.

“Look for yourself if you don’t believe me,” Cole handed Sam a file.

In the file was a picture of Michael standing with three other men, each of them holding automatic weapons, on a sunny beach in what appeared to be the Caribbean.

“Those three men are, Abdul Sabbard, Senna Halfeeki and Yosuf Harran, three of the deadliest terrorists known to the United States Government,” said Cole, “All three have been seen with Michael Burton on many occasions. This photo was taken only six months ago by one of our operatives.”

“And how do you know this picture hasn’t been workshopped? The only person missing is whoever shot JFK.”

“We have our operatives word for it. The photograph is genuine,” it was obvious Agent Simmons believed it was real.

“Must be a good operator, terrorists are normally very camera shy.”

Agent Simmons approached Sam.

“Crease, have you seen Michael Burton since you dropped him off at his wife’s house?”

Sam looked up at both CIA agents. He didn’t know what to say.

“Agent Crease?”

Sam glanced at the door that led to the room where Michael Burton lay asleep.

He couldn’t believe the man who looked so lost and so afraid could be capable of murder, let alone terror.

“Have you spoken to his wife?” Sam finally asked.

“We did this morning. She said he left not even an hour after you dropped him off that night.”

“You spoke to her this morning?” Sam looked up.

“That’s correct,” replied Cole

A little bit of uncertainty started to undermine Sam.

Could Michael have lied to him?

Could he really be a terrorist wanting to destroy American lives?

If his wife is alive, then who shot him?

“I’ll ask you again, Crease – have you seen Michael Burton since you dropped him off?”

Sam again looked up at the agents. His mouth was open, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“No,” he finally said, “I haven’t seen him – not since I dropped him off to see his wife.”

The two agents looked at Sam. They didn’t say a word - many seconds passed as both men stood there, starring down at the FBI agent.

“Are you sure about that, Crease?” Simmons asked once more.

“Guys, I wouldn’t lie to you – not for something like this. We’re on the same team, remember.”

Both Agents looked at each other.

Agent Cole looked back at Sam.

“May I ask you then what you are doing at this doctor’s surgery, Agent Crease?”

“I’m here for some tests on my knee. I twisted it yesterday morning playing around with my daughter.”

“That’s funny, I didn’t notice-“

In walked Jensen – his head down and with him an X-ray.

“Sam, I’ve just had a look at your knee and-“

Dr Jensen stopped short.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that you guys were still here.”

“It’s all right, doctor, we were just leaving.”

Sam stood up, feigning a knee injury.

“Fellas, if I hear or see anything I’ll let you know,” he said.

The two agents again looked at each other and then back at Sam.

“Thanks for your time, Agent Crease. Hope that knee heals up soon.”

“Here, allow me,” Jensen moved towards the door.

“Its okay, doctor, we’ll let ourselves out.”

Jensen watched as the two agents left the room.

“So what did they say?” he asked as the agents disappeared from sight.

“Nothing much, just that Michael’s a terrorist - that he’s harbouring some biological weapon that will kill millions.”

“What!”

“That’s what they’re saying, Phil,” replied Sam, “That Michael’s mixed up with a group of terrorist stationed somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“Are you nuts?! And you didn’t tell them that he’s here – you just let them go?!”

“Calm down, Phil. I don’t know why but I just don’t believe them. I can’t, not after what I’ve seen so far.”

“But why would they lie? It makes no sense,” Jensen continued.

“I don’t know,” Sam pulled out his phone, “but making this call will confirm a lot of things – especially whether or not I can trust these guys.”

“Why – who are you calling?”

Sam dialled the number.

“Hello? Yes, can I speak to a Detective Paul Ottens please?”

“Who’s that?” asked Jensen.

Sam put up his finger and mouthed ‘wait’ as he was put on hold.

“Paul – Sam Crease, how are you? Well, I’m fine, sort of. Listen, Paul, I’m real sorry to bother you at work, but I need a favour and I need it fast. Can you tell me if there’s been any homicide down in Queens the last day or so. Okay, good, I’ll wait.”

Sam clasped his hand over the phone and looked at Phil.

“The CIA told me that they spoke to Michael’s wife this morning. If they’re telling me the truth, then Paul who’s with the NYPD will confirm it. If it’s the case and she is alive, then Michael’s lying to us. If he is, then I’ll call the CIA guys back in and they can take him away.”

“Those guys would be gone by now,” said Jensen.

“Trust me, Phil; if I know anything, those two guys are sitting across the road watching this place as we speak.”

“Are you sure?“

Sam raised his hand.

“Yes I’m still here, Paul. Okay. Really? Can you confirm the name? Kelly Burton. Any leads on who did it?”

Sam nodded, listening intently, not offering much, just the occasional “uh-huh” and an incredulous “really?”

Finally, the conversation was over. “Thanks, Paul, I owe you one. No, no, nothing’s wrong, just checking a lead that’s turned into a dead end, that’s all. Thanks again. Yes, I’ll tell her. Okay, bye.”

Sam closed his cell phone and looked back at Jensen.

“Well?” Jensen said.

“Well, she’s dead all right. Shot at close range as she opened her apartment door. Just as Michael said.”

“So he’s not a terrorist?”

“No, but get this. They’ve got the shooter, a homeless man whose luck ran out when he was confronted by a couple of off-duty CIA boys and he decided to engage them. The homeless man was shot dead and the cops are pretty certain they’ve got his DNA in his apartment, so it’s open and shut as far as they’re concerned.”

“That’s all a bit convenient.”

“Too convenient, but it’s how the CIA work. Everybody knows it’s a set-up but they’re allowed to get away with it because, when all’s said and done, they’ve got a licence to kill.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Two things,” said Sam, “One, we need you to get us out of here without those CIA agents seeing us and, two, we need that physiatrist friend of yours to get the truth out of Michael.”

“Okay, one thing at a time, Sam. Now how do I get you out of here without being seen?”

“Simple. Call me an ambulance.”