Budding Hope

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Special Agent Chereece Malcolm

We pull up at the train station like large black crows circling a dead corpse, our bullet proof black vans completely lining the station’s entrance. Security personal meet us outside, stepping aside quickly as we stride past. My black knee high boots click loudly on the sun beaten cement and my bulletproof vest itches under my shirt. I pull the sunglasses from my head and slip them over my dark brown eyes to block the glare reflecting from the bright cement. The tinted glass does little to block the blinding sun.

‘Stupid, piece of fish crap,’ I think to myself, cursing my under average wage and FBI ranking.

Despite all the anti-racist and feminist crap the media always rants on about, being a middle-aged African American woman working for the military has never been easy. Every General, Captain and Marshal takes one look at my small, thin, coloured frame and immediately disregards me. They want buffed up, rifle ready morons, ready to run head on into battle without thinking twice about the consequences. Intelligence is the key to all battle strategies, I’ve always believed that. If you got the smarts to plan an ambush to the nearest detail and succeed it doesn’t matter at all how strong or fast you are. 

We walk towards a large group of people and I stop right in front of the train station’s head security officer, my face just inches from his.

“Show us to the victim.” I demand him sternly not bothering with pleasantries.

Although intelligence is the main key to all battle strategies a little well placed fear never hurts. With great fear comes greater respect.

I stare him down when he doesn’t answer immediately, my sharp brown eyes penetrating deep into his soul.

“He’s…um…he’s…inside. The…staff office,” The man stutters, averting his gaze from the sharp, stern features of my face.

I nod and step past him, wrinkling my nose at the unpleasant smell now emanating from his breeches. I stalk through the train station hurriedly, knowing that every second counts in a chase like this. The agents spread around me forming an arrow. Much like a flock of flying birds in formation we easily cut through the mid-afternoon crowd. One of my men opens the door for me and I step inside alone. A plump man in his mid-forties sits at a wooden table, his head cradled in his hands.

“Señor, I am Agent Malcolm from United States Government Special Circumstances Bureaucracy or USGSCB in short.” I tell him, softening my naturally harsh tone so as not to frighten him into silence. I need him talking as quickly as possible if I am to find the fugitives assigned as my next target.

He lifts his head and stands, holding out his left hand in greeting whilst keeping his other hand firmly planted on the ice pack on his forehead. “Hola, I…am…Carlos. I’m in charge…of train yard…security.” He says in English, taking his time and pronouncing each word carefully.

I gesture to the seats around the table and we both sit down. “I’m here regarding the attack that occurred at 7:00am this morning. Can you confirm for me that it was you who was involved and was the victim of this attack?”

The man nods. “Yes.”

“Now you understand the local officers will conduct a full interview as soon as possible but for now I just need you to tell me briefly what occurred this morning.” I say.

The man nods again. “I was patrolling the train yard when…I hear…man and boy comes out of the office doors. I follow them a few steps before I picked up a…” He pauses for a few seconds searching for the right words. “A metal bar, a weapon.”