Subject: [FFML] [fic][orig][REWRITE]Chronicles of War, Ch.10
From: Jared Waddell
Date: 11/29/2005, 1:26 AM
To: "ffml@anifics.com" <ffml@anifics.com>

Attached, because cut/paste makes a mess of it for some reason. Another
thing to fix I suppose.

And for anyone actually reading this, this is TOTALLY DIFFERENT than the
previously posted ch.10 (see 11 to find out what happened to it).

Fic below.
---


	
		
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-- Attached file included as plaintext by Ecartis --
-- File: Chapter 010.txt
-- Desc: pat757634354

Chronicles of War

Part 1: Way of the Storm

------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Some folks are born made to wave the flag/
     Oh, that red white and blue...
     And when the band plays 'Hail to the Chief'/
     Oh, they point the cannon at you."

    - Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Fortunate Son"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: Theory and Fact

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The police department's mobile command center--a late model GMC van--had
been put to use the instant the police knew one James Rahn was entering
the mall. Parked on site to provide a central place from which all
police efforts could be directed, the van was currently set up in the
far southwest corner of the mall's parking lot.

Less than twenty yards away and perhaps twenty minutes ago, James Rahn
choose to leave a parked bus and irrevocably change the lives of
countless people--mostly for the worst. The irony that the apparent root
of such a bad decision began so close to the mobile command center was
not lost on Police Chief Jesse Cameins. He gave the press--sequestered
on the landscaped hill across the street, beyond the parking lot, and
thankfully out of earshot--what he hoped was a reassuring wave and
ducked into the van.

Inside, Bates and Limbaugh manned two thirds of the three-man counter
built into the driver's side of the van's cargo area. Monitors,
telephones, radios, and other communications paraphernalia were mounted
to the wall, leaving the long narrow counter free for the piles of notes
that Bates was adding to and Limbaugh was annotating. Their Lieutenant
was outside giving orders in person. 

Bates was at the counter, one of the telephone receivers held tightly to
his ear. Limbaugh was reading off a list of locations in the mall, from
the 'most likely' list provided the FBI. Anything to help the man inside
find the rest of the bombs. Once through, Bates tried to hold the
attention of the person on the other end, but it was obviously a lost
cause. He quick hung up and shook his head.

The bald detective ran a hand over his smooth scalp and set the notes
down. He glanced at the blueprints of the mall, rolled up next to his
papers. Cameins cleared his throat.

"Kate Dogson, twenty-four years old." Limbaugh said mechanically.

"She's polite." Bates said, looking lost in thought. "A local. We've got
a social, background, contacts, place of employment..." He blinked
slowly. "She works in the mall."

Limbaugh nodded wordlessly.

"She's working with him?" Cameins asked.

"She offered herself up as a hostage when the guard, Ed Flemming, was
gathering hostages. She apparently knew him in high school."

"She knew the guard in high school? Or Rahn?"

"Both," Bates amended, "Both from high school, but she had no idea if
they've been friends before. As far as she knew, they had no contact
with one-another in high school."

"What does that tells us?" The Chief said quietly.

"That the Tri-Cities is a small place, sir." Limbaugh said with a
straight face.

His partner cracked a smile. Cameins' eyes twinkled, but his mouth
remained a taunt, unmoving line.

"But seriously, if she's not in on it--" The bald one continued.

"--she'd be the one to know if Rahn or Flemming were acting suspicious."
Bates finished automatically.

Falling into deep thought, Cameins folded his arms over his chest. "So
she's our third man. Woman. Anyway, Kitawaski has faith in both Flemming
and Rahn. The 'why' aside, do either of you think that his trust is
misplaced?"

"No, but if it is, then Flemming is a plant and Rahn is working with the
guy who called that bus to make sure that these bombs go off and make us
look bad in the process," Bates said.

"Kitawaski isn't going to get that much credit from us, and anyone
trying to set up that kind plot is going to know that before hand. Rahn
is at the top of our list of suspects."

"He's right, Peter." Cameins nodded. "How is Dogson helping?"

"Looking after the hostages, talking with them. She was there when Rahn
and Flemming left the store."

"He's using her like a mother hen." Limbaugh offered.

"Or a sheepdog," Cameins surmised, "Guiding the herd."

A shaggy head nodded in agreement.

"Could we feed directions through her to Rahn?" The Chief asked.

Now Bates shook his head. "Rahn is running the show. He told Dogson that
our info was just backup. He's an engineer and so he thinks he knows how
this mall is built better than we do."

"Given the state of those blueprints, Peter, I wouldn't be surprised if
he's right." Cameins said with a nod towards the rolled-up papers.

The bald detective spoke up. "It sounds like he's using her as a filter
for our information, so anything we ask her to do has to be subtle."

"Yeah." Bates looked at the consoles of equipment uneasily. "It's weird
that he would pass off something that important to someone else rather
than do it himself. Even if he trusts her."

"He's too confident." The Chief said. "He knows something we don't."

"If he's an engineer..." Limbaugh said.

"No military training?" Cameins asked.

"None that we've found."

"I'll have Dan pump her for information." Cameins mused aloud.

"She sounds willing to talk. She's just really freaked out, sir."

The Chief was quiet for a minute, then directed another question at
Limbaugh. "Justin, do you think she's got a vigilante streak in her?
Anything in her history, anything at all?"

Limbaugh glanced at his notes. "Nothing concrete. I also get the feeling
she's in over her head."

The Chief grunted. "No reason not to, in this situation."

Limbaugh reached for one of the phones without shifting a millimeter in
his seat. "I'll be done with her background in ten minutes." He
promised.

The Chief turned to Bates. "Where's the FBI?"

"On their way."

The Chief's expression was inscrutable for a moment. "They had better be
coming down here with a fuckin' army."

Bates would have given his new BMW to know what the Chief was thinking.
"I know sir."

As Limbaugh set down one receiver, another started ringing. He paused to
activate the recording system, a movement long ago turned into reflex,
and picked up the receiver.

"Limbaugh at four-two. Yes? No, please give it to me now. Okay. Okay.
Okay. Thank you." He hung up the phone and looked at Bates and the
Chief. "That was the University of Nevada, Reno. James Rahn graduated
with a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering through an accelerated study
program. All the college records match up with his official records."

"Which say..." The Chief trailed off expectantly.

Limbaugh looked at his notes as if he expected them to jump up and start
doing tricks. "He changed his name before he attended college. His high
school transcripts and records have no warning bells attached. Pretty
much an anonymous, but very smart kid."

"Who now thinks he's John fucking McClain."

"Your average delusional youth?" Bates offered, half in jest. "Dogson
might be as scared of him as any hypothetical bombs."

Limbaugh frowned at his partner. "I'm expecting the home telephone
numbers of several coworkers from that outfit in North Dakota to show up
before long. Let's cross our fingers and hope one of them is home."

"How long do you think it will take to dig up his original last name?"
Cameins asked.

"Not long now. The high school should be faxing us a list of students
graduating in '90. We just have to look up the James' and start checking
off names."

The Chief smiled. "Excellent work."

"I'm going to call the FBI," Bates said, "I'm tired of waiting."

Cameins stretched his arms out and twisted at the waist--the movement
drew muted popping noises from his spine. Taking a deep breath, he
seemed to exude calm. He stepped out of the van surely and quickly, but
without any sense of hurry, appropriate to his image as a decisive,
competent Chief of Police.

The thick-haired detective grabbed his partner's notepad and set it
before his half of the table. Before him lay brief notes detailing
James' time in college. Field of study, GPA, professors who wrote
recommendations. It was a bland record of a bland man. The record didn't
say why James Rahn would walk into what most people would consider
certain death without a moments consideration.

Bates picked up the nearest receiver and dialed.

----------

Clark hated flying in bad weather. Planes, on the whole, didn't bother
him, but if driving through a winter storm was frightening, then flying
through one was rollercoaster of pure terror. He felt he'd been
exceptionally lucky so far, with the flight being smooth and quite
undisturbed by the weather. Despite warnings from the ground before, and
from the pilots shortly after take-off, he'd yet to feel more than a few
small bumps. Of course, most of his 75-minute flight still lay before
him. There was plenty of time for things to get ugly.

Inside, things were already ugly. Clark was in off-white Hell. Who had
picked the color scheme for this bird? He'd pondered that same question
twenty times in that last three minutes. White phone, white seats, white
wall, white trim. White window covers. A splash of color surely wouldn't
have hurt anyone. The white papers on the seat next to his partner,
Kelly Narr, almost had more color than the drab, soul-crushing white of
the plane's decor.

Speaking of agent Narr, the young woman was flicking one finger back and
forth against the end of a lock of her short hair. Clark watched her
flick it twenty or so times before noisily clearing his throat.

She looked up from the thick pile of paperwork she'd received by fax
mere minutes ago. Faxes on airplanes, what would they think of next? Her
eyes locked onto his, awaiting a question or comment. It took a moment
for her to realize what she was doing, and lower her hand. "Sorry."

Clark shrugged. "No, it's okay. I'm just...restless."

"Yeah, I hate flying too." If she did, it wasn't showing. She went
straight back to reading, peeling off another page and setting it on the
loose pile next to her. She smiled.

Before Clark could ask what she found amusing, the phone built into the
console-table thingy between them rang. Phones on planes. Nice. Weird,
but nice. He answered on the second ring.

"Clark."

A woman's voice droned over the line, "Peter Bates connecting from
Kennewick. Please hold."

Clark glanced at the notes laid out in front him one last time and
switched on the speakerphone.

The voice that came over the line was direct and relaxed. "Hello, this
is Peter Bates. How are you doing?"

"We're just fine, thank you. I have my partner, Kelly Narr, here with
me."

"Hello, Ma'am."

"Hello, Peter."

"How are you guys doing there?" Clark asked. Pleasantries were not
something an up-standing FBI agent made light of. They often set the
tone for the remainder of the conversation.

"Quite tense here, Mr. Clark."

The agent made a face. "Just Jason, please."

"Er...okay, Jason. We've made contact with a James Rahn inside the mall.
He was the person enlisted by the suspect over the radio line. We've
also had the chance to speak to a woman named Kate Dogson who is working
with him."

Clark's pen was a blur. "Kate...Dogson...Records?"

"All local. We've got social, high school, college...and we're also
getting information about her employment in the mall. Works for some
fashion place."

"She works in the mall?" Kelly asked.

"Yes. She claimed to be on shift when this started," Bates said.

Clark rubbed his temple with his free hand, trying to ignore the muted
roar of the jet's engines. He wrote 'accomplice' next to the woman's
name. "What'd she have to say?"

"Not much, really. She didn't want to talk. We're lucky we did get
something out of her. Also, she did claim to know Rahn when they were in
high school.

Had Clark been drinking anything, there would have been a spit-take. He
stared at Kelly, who shrugged.

"Okay, did she have anything else to say about him?"

"Well, we suspect that Rahn and the security guard inside have known
each other before. She knew the security guard in high school as
well--an Ed Flemming--but says they weren't close. She did tell us that
she wasn't aware of Rahn and Flemming even knowing each other existed in
high school Anyway, The mall's Chief of Security vouched for Flemming.
He said the man has been there for almost two years, is reliable, calm,
rarely messes up."

Clark looked like he'd gained an ulcer in the last ten seconds. "Any
discussions at your end about her being an accomplice?" he asked in a
formal tone.

"Nothing to go on."

"And Flemming was the guard who helped this Rahn character gather the
hostages."

"Oh yes."

Clark's pen was making a list, even as he spoke, "Have you talked to
Flemming yet?"

"No. We really need to. If he knew James, that's two information sources
inside the mall."

Clark held down the mute button and glanced at Kelly. "That's two
information sources that may be accomplices."

Kelly nodded. Clark released the button. "An interesting coincidence,"
he said.

"Very interesting," Bates remarked.

"Is she unmarried?" Kelly asked.

"I suppose so. She just said to call her Miss."

"So, Rahn and Flemming...how good are they getting along now?" The
younger agent asked.

"Just good, according to Ms. Dogson. Our negotiator is trying to get
Rahn on the line again. We'll see then what he and Flemming have to say
for themselves."

"What else have you got?" Clark asked, frowning at his notes.
'Collusion?' was written to the side of the names and circled several
times.

"We've got James Rahn's college records--but they're incomplete. He went
to high school right here in town, so we're having the school dredge up
everything they have on him and these other two. Should take only a few
more minutes. Oh, you're going to love this: He apparently changed his
name."

The agents looked at each other like marks standing before a
professional killer, wondering why they weren't dead yet.

"Really?" Clark said, "What was it before?"

Kelly favored him with a look that said 'don't push it.'

Bates continued without missing a beat, "We're going to scan the list of
graduating students for the class of 1990. Apparently, he changed his
name in '92, in Nevada, when he attended college, and the agency there
is still looking for the records."

"Wait," Clark interrupted, "I thought all of that was supposed to be
computerized."

"There was some kind of mix-up when their computer system was being
upgraded. A Mrs. Dunhill my partner spoke with said that they just
haven't gotten around to putting these records into their new system,
and they're short-handed thanks to the holiday..."

"I'll have five agents there within the hour." Kelly with the cheer of a
morning news show host. "But great idea with the high school records."

"It's a start." Said the voice over the phone.

The older agent nodded to himself. Thankfully, the Kennewick Police
Department was not full of idiots. "Any details about his college
education?"

"Full transcripts should be here momentarily. We've got written
confirmation of attendance and graduation--B.S. in Mechanical
Engineering from the University of Nevada in Reno. Accelerated
coursework, full documentation, stellar student, teachers willing to
vouch for him, yadda yadda."

Clark was nodding along with every word. "And his employer?"

"Former, actually. Claims he was laid off a few days ago. End of
assignment stuff, but no details. Small Engineering firm in Blackram,
North Dakota. Closed, naturally. We're hitting up emergency contacts and
such. Odds are we'll have his boss on the phone within the hour.

"What's it called?" Kelly asked with as much sugar in her voice as she
could muster.

"Stevenson Consulting, Ltd."

Clark smiled. "Brilliant. Theories?"

He could hear the smirk over the phone. "I was hoping you would have
some."

"Don't think of this as the final word from the FBI, but my suspicion is
that this is a distraction."

"Distraction?"

"Yes. Is there is any large banking branches there? Political visitors?
Biological or chemical weapons sources?"

"Sir, we're not fifty miles from one of the largest nuclear processing
and research facilities on earth, and barely sixty miles from one of
this countries largest stockpiles of chemical and biological weapons."

"That...doesn't sound safe."

"We've got representatives from each on alert and they're completely
locked down. Highest level of security available has already been put
into place. If someone thinks this is going to distract us, they're very
poor planners."

'Just beginning?' was promptly scribed onto Clark's notepad. Kelly
nodded back and nervously pushed some stray strands of hair back into
place.

"The only thing of value in the mall are some jewelry stores." Bates
offered, trying to be helpful.

"A terrorists attack of this scale for some shiny baubles in an public
store?"

"Yeah, that's why we're at a dead end."

"Then it's down to grunt police work." Kelly said. "We just don't have
enough information at this point."

"All right. I'll forward your input to the Chief as soon as he gets
back."

"He's not there right now?"

"He's talking to the officer in charge of the crowd outside."

Clark rubbed the side of his head again. "Keep your eyes peeled."

"We will."

"How's Rahn doing in there?" Kelly asked quietly.

"He's out-numbered, out-gunned, and running out of time. It'll be a
miracle if we're not up to our necks in dead bodies by noon."

Kelly sat back in her seat, looking pensively out the window.

"We should be landing in one hour." Clark said.

"We'll see you then, Jason."

"Good bye, Peter."

"Penny for your thoughts." Kelly said, absently fingering the pile of
paperwork that covered her lap and spilled over into the adjacent seat.

"I'm happy they're on the ball. I'm unhappy about everything else."
Clark said bluntly.

Kelly smirked. At least Clark was still Clark. Head in the clouds one
minute, mind flying everywhere, and just when you're in so deep you
can't imagine ever finding your way out, he cuts through the bullshit
and drops you back into cold, hard reality with a but a few words. She
picked up a pen and spun it between her fingers absently.

"Kelly,"

She set the pen down. "Sorry."

He sighed. "We have a bomb threat turning into a terrorist situation in
a tiny mall. We have fifty civilian hostages. We have an unknown man
elected to defend those hostages against assailants unknown. We have
another unknown who baited the first man into this situation and
supposedly set up the bombs in the first place. Now the first unknown
just marches in there and apparently starts killing guys left and
right--terrorists who are trying to...what? This doesn't even make
sense."

"He's gotta be military." Kelly mused. "He's gotta be ex-CIA or Green
Beret or Special Forces or something. This screams military training."

"You don't think he changed his name to separate himself from a criminal
past?"

Kelly leveled a skeptical look at her senior. "He's young, and he's got
no juvenile record. He hasn't had time to get a criminal record.
Besides, if he's this easy to pick out, I don't think he was hiding."
She ticked off points on her fingers. "Name change. College in another
state. Working as a professional engineer. If he did cross someone, he
didn't have to run away from it. He walked."

"So maybe he's not scared of what or whoever because he's well trained.
Maybe he got them good, put some bodies in the ground, and they had
friends who are back for revenge."

"Too many questions," Kelly lamented.

"Then we tear apart Reno," Clark said.

"We tear apart Reno," Kelly affirmed, then looked at her paperwork.
"Curious."

Clark pointed at the papers next to Kelly. "I'm curious as to what that
mess is."

Kelly held up the folder sitting before her. "These are our James' high
school records."

Clark thought through the clash of vowels and consonants in her
sentence, and once he realized what she had said, carefully boggled.

"Those," she indicated the pile next to her, "are the other James' in
Kamiakin High School. Don't look so surprised, Jason. The cops weren't
the first to think of this." She set James' folder in her lap. "You want
to know what makes me suspicious of the military angle?"

Clark nodded, trying not to look like an over-eager puppy.

She pulled a piece of paper from James' file, seemingly at random. A
number of black marks were all over the document, all carefully blocking
out the repeated occurrence of one word.

Clark stated the obvious. He always stated the obvious. It had to go on
record somewhere. "His last name isn't on there."

"Yeah. Someone wanted him to disappear. Someone with power. Someone with
connections. Small-time crooks in Reno? I don't think so. And if someone
big, maybe the mafia, where hunting him, would they bother with this?
No. They'd put a hundred bullets in him in the middle of the night and
call it good."

Clark gave his temple another magic rub. "The computer records are
garbled." It was not a question.

"No. They're gone."

"If he survives this, I'm going to have him in San Quentin before he so
much as lights a fucking cigarette."

----------

Back in the command van, "That was weird."

Limbaugh looked at his partner, his hands frozen above a new line of
critical information. "What?"

Bates shook his head. "That was half like talking to the other side of
my brain, half like trying to communicate with space aliens."

The short man smirked. "You cleared things up, I take it."

"Yeah, I gave him everything, but he...I dunno. He's got this idea about
what's going on and it feels like he's not following the same leads as
we are."

"Doesn't that make sense though? If we're already following some leads
wouldn't he avoid duplicating our work and work on his own leads?"

"Well, that's right." Bates tugged at the end of his mustache.

"Well, what do you think of their leads?"

"Some interesting stuff, but nothing that will help us. Kidnappers.
Robbers. Part of some bigger plot. What is this guy smoking?"

Limbaugh favored his partner with a look of mock suspicion. "Part of a
bigger plot, eh? Maybe he's in on it."

Instead of a dry chuckle, the shaggy detective returned a glare.
"Anything intelligent to add?"

"Sorry, Pete. Maybe he's just covering all of the bases, you know.
Closing all of the holes."

"Cover thy ass," Bates offered.

"Yeah. Exactly. All government agents do that anyway, don't they?"

"Aren't we government agents?"

"We serve the public trust, not the federal government."

"Amen to that."

"So why doesn't somebody fax mister government man a clue? We could use
some help around here."

Limbaugh smiled sadly. "Come on, Pete. It'd take them a week to put
through the paperwork to authorize the transmission of a clue."

Bates finally chuckled. "I wonder if Dan has anything enlightening to
add?"

"I do not," said a voice from behind the detectives. "But I will ask for
something enlightening when I talk to Mr. Clark myself."

"Hey." Said each detective in turn.

"Hey guys," the negotiator offered. "The directional mikes are being
pulled back. They aren't worth shit in this wind."

"How's the crowd outside?" The short detective asked.

"Restless and cold and clueless. Lots of people are claiming that they
saw something. Exactly what they saw remains a mystery."

"It seems odd that no one would notice a people planting explosives in
the place."

"They've been doing construction throughout the mall for weeks now.
Don't you get around?"

Bates shrugged.

"JC Penny's completely tore up. The new wing isn't even finished and
Christmas decorations are everywhere."

"In short, it's a grade-A mess. We knew that."

"Sorry, you sounded like you hadn't been inside the place in weeks."

"I haven't," Bates proudly.

Smith smiled apologetically and sat down at the only free console,
slipping on a pair of headphones. His square fingers toggled switches
and he started running over the recordings of everything James had said
that was caught on tape. After only a minute of this, he pulled off the
headphones and looked thoughtfully at the detectives.

"Did either of you notice how quiet the background is?"

"Inside? Yeah, I assumed that things were under control."

The squared-off man looked like a teacher about to scold a particularly
dim student. "And why, pray tell, would things be 'under control' in the
situation as we understand it?"

"If there was a gunfight going on when we called, do you think anyone
would pick up?"

"No one is complaining in the background."

Limbaugh held up a notepad and pointed to some writing, 'BACKGROUND
SILENT.'

"Any theories?" Smith said seriously.

Both detectives just stared at him.

"What'd I say?"

"Nothing," Bates said. "Clark suggested the whole thing was a set-up."

"That has nothing to do with the hostages being quiet."

"Exactly. Beyond background on this guy, we don't have a lot of
information here. We don't know the names of everyone inside yet."

"It will come in due time," Smith said. "Now we concentrate on James
Rahn."

He went back to listening to the recording.

The two detectives shared a look. In the end, who James Rahn was didn't
matter. What mattered was what he did, or would do. Who he would save.

Who he would kill.



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