Nobody's Agent

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Niagara Falls. March 5th

Twenty minutes to midnight.

The blue and red flashes from police cruisers’s light bars illuminated the Rainbow Bridge. Police vehicles had blocked both sides of the bridge, trapping the red Ford Focus in the middle.

The car sat idling as bellows of gray smoke irrupted from the tailpipe.

It had been an hour since the standoff, and nobody had moved. The police and border control ensured the car didn’t go anywhere because the FBI was on its way by helicopter.

It had been three days since the k********g of the Karr family. The ransom had been five million dollars, which would be small change to the billionaire. The money had been dropped at the location given, but the boy remained missing.

The wind hollowed across the bridge, rocking the vehicle as it sat and waited.

The man inside, John Barrett, waited. He knew the Feds would come, and he would be arrested if he played by their rules.

High above the thump, thump, thump of rotor blades caused the police to look up. The FBI helicopter was circling. The beam from its spotlight lit up the Ford and half-blinded John, who raised his arm to shield his eyes.

The helicopter circled twice then landed in the bottleneck space after the toll booths. Three men got out, instinctively ducked down as they ran from the helicopter. The men cleared the downdraft and straightened up. Their gazes fell toward the cordon and the trapped car. The agents all wore black suits with white shirts. They were all the same height, but the middleman had a larger build and walked with a swagger.

“Got you, you son-of-a-b***h,” said the agent in the middle. The lights reflected off the naturally dark skin of his shaven head.

The three agents turned as a man in a police uniform hurried over to them. The agents didn’t move, allowing the cop to come to them.

“I’m Sheriff Jones,” the man said. He was tall and slim, with gray hair almost hidden under a ballcap.

“Special Agent in charge,” the lead agent said, shaking the sheriff’s hand.

“We got your man when he ran the barrier. We figure he saw one of the cop cars and figured the worst. Thanks for the tip, by the way. We would’ve just figured he was some asshole running for the border otherwise,” Jones said.

The agent’s eyes narrowed as though the news of a tip hit a sore point. “Not a problem, and thanks for catching our boy,” he replied.

“What now?” asked Jones.

“Well, we have to make sure the boy is in the car, then we take the bastard out with a sniper,” the agent said, with a satisfied smile.

“So, the kid is in the car?” Jones asked.

“I guarantee it, he would be stupid to leave without his insurance,” the agent said.

“So, what you waitin’ for? Shoot him so we can all go home.” Jones shrugged.

“Unfortunately, we have to follow procedure. We have to make sure the boy is safe, the man could have explosives in the car or other form of traps, we kill him, he still wins. No, we do this right,” the agent replied, nodding to himself as though confirming his decision.

From behind them came a screech of tires, and a man in a gray suit came rushing toward them.

“Who the heck is that?” Jones asked.

“The fly in the ointment,” the agent growled. “What are you doing here, Nash?” the agent yelled at the approaching agent.

“I know what you want to do, but you can’t,” Nash said, panting heavily from the run.

“And why is that?” the agent said, crossing his arms defiantly.

“The boy isn’t in the car. He is somewhere else; if you kill Barrett, we will never find him in time,” Nash said.

The agent looked Nash up and down, taking note of his suit. Nash wore a three-piece dark gray suit, a light blue shirt without a tie, and brown boots that were more for hiking than the standard black business-style footwear. Nash was tall with an average build, and light-brown hair parted at the side.

“And you know this how?” asked Jones, with a confused look.

“Sheriff Jones, meet the Bureau’s profiler, and pain in my a*s, Ronin Nash,” the agent said.

“You’re not an agent?” Jones asked.

“Unfortunately, he is, but he prefers not to use it for some reason. Apparently, it makes people prickly when they hear it,” the agent said.

Jones said nothing. He just bobbed his head as if in agreement.

“So, what makes you think the boy isn’t in the car?” the agent asked impatiently.

“It doesn’t fit his MO. Barrett has got what he wants, and now he is moving on. The kid would be a problem that he can do without because he would have to stash the kid somewhere, feed him, and how long for? No, Barrett has got the money. As far as he knew, nobody knew what he looked like, so all he had to do was leave the country and start fresh. He has the funds to do it. The kid would be baggage,” Nash said.

“Wouldn’t it be better to keep the kid with him?” Jones asked.

“You think about it. You are on the run with five million, and people are looking for you. Now, if you get made, and the cops find you for some reason, broken taillight, speeding, looking suspicious, do you want your bargaining chip there with you or tucked away to ensure nothing happens to you? Because only you know the location, so the cops will take you in and question you, not blow your head off,” Nash said.

“Makes sense,” Jones said.

“Utter crap, Nash, you have no idea, you are just guessing,” the agent barked.

“Just like I had no idea, he would be heading to Canada via this route, or he was driving an old Ford, OK the color was a guess,” Nash shrugged.

“I thought you called it in?” Jones said, turning to the agent.

“Look, the point is we have our man, so whether the kid is in the car or not, we have to do something,” the agent growled.

“Let me talk to him,” Nash said.

The agent thought for a moment. Of course, he would prefer not to lose an agent, but seeing Nash mess this up would be worth the black mark.

“OK, Nash, you have five minutes.”

“Here, take this,” Nash said, unclipping his holster from his belt and giving it to the agent.

Ronin Nash began walking over, his arms raised to the side so Barrett could see he wasn’t armed.

“Hi, John, I’m Ronin Nash,” he said as he strolled over to the red Ford.

“Finally, we meet, Nash,” Barrett said with a broken smile. “I had a feeling if I was geetin’ caught, it would be you.”

“Is that why you hid the kid?” Nash asked.

Barrett said nothing. He just nodded as if he was impressed by the question.

“So, what happens now, John?”

“You could let me go, I tell you where the kid is, we move on, everyone is happy,” Barrett said.

“Possibly, but that asshole over there with the massive shiny head won’t see it like that,” Nash said.

“Yeah, Special Agent.” Barrett nodded. “You know, Nash, if it hadn’t been for you, the kid would be home now?”

“If it hadn’t been for you, John, we wouldn’t have been looking for him, so, don’t put this on me,” Nash said calmly.

Barrett laughed. “Yeah, I figured you weren’t the guilt trip type but had to try, right?”

“Where is he, John?” Nash said, creeping closer. Finally, close enough, he could make out the dashboard.

“I come in quietly, maybe make a deal, then I tell you,” Barrett said. His voice became soft and nervous—a man with only one option.

“You come in, turn over the cash, we can talk to the DA, possibly work something out, but you know I can’t guarantee anything. That’s your best option. You haven’t killed anyone, so k********g is the only thing on the table,” Nash said.

“OK, Nash, we do it your way,” Barrett said.

Nash nodded.

But as Nash turned, he saw two cops rushing for the car. He went to raise his hands to tell them to stop, and then he heard the roar of the engine.

Nash turned to see the anger in Barrett’s face. “Nice try, Nash. Tell the agent he ain’t takin’ me in. Best find the kid before time runs out, Nash.” Barrett said, then hit the gas, turned the wheel, and smashed the vehicle through the railings and off the side of the bridge.

“NO!” Nash screamed as he rushed to the broken railing just in time to see the rear of the car disappear into the water. He fell to his knees. Anger welled up inside of him.

“What the hell did you do, Nash?” the agent barked.

Nash stood up and faced the agent. “Who ordered the men to rush the car?” he asked.

“It was a tactical move and one worth risking. You had him engaged. We thought we could take him,” Jones said.

“Who gave the order?” Nash said.

“You messed this one up, Nash, not me,” the agent said.

Ronin Nash nodded. He had his answer. He grabbed his g*n from the agent and placed it back on his belt. “No, you did. He was coming in before your ego got in the way.”

It took two hours to retrieve the Ford from the river. Inside they found precisely what Ronin Nash expected. Barrett, a bag with two million dollars, and no kid.

After searching Barrett’s navigation system and using cell tower information, the Feds narrowed the search to a new construction site, just out of Manhattan. Finally, they found the missing child in a container buried under what was due to be new foundations of a building. The concrete was to be poured the next day.

The child was dead. He had only enough oxygen to last up until midnight.

Ronin Nash figured that Barrett would have given up the location whether he had made it over the border or had been caught. But the agent’s intervention had changed everything.

Two days later, Ronin Nash quit the FBI.