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Chapter Two
Shawn hated leaving his father hanging as he had, but a murder was a murder. And a murder was all the more important when it possibly had something to do with the Morning Star Organization. The MSO was a group of people that had a nasty penchant for buying things and assassinating people if they didn‘t follow through with the transactions. The problem was, they could never positively prove anything against them. The organization always hired someone else to do the killing, unless it was a particularly important hit; Like this one.
A fire had broken out at a high-rise office building near the coast, trapping a Russian antiquities seller by the name of Nikolai Belyakova. His remains (admittedly not very discernable) had been taken to a crime scene investigation lab and it was concluded that the man had been dead before the fire consumed him, the cause of death actually being a sword, specifically a Japanese-made katana, through his chest. This would be strange enough, but even more so was the fact that the receptionist told investigators that nobody had even come to visit him that day. This left the question of how the killer had gotten in; a question that had yet to be answered.
Shawn and his team had immediately suspected the MSO because of the level of skill it would take to pull off the hit, as well as a tip they had gotten from an informant letting them know that Belyakova had recently shirked his part of a deal for the selling of an incredibly ancient (and expensive) vase from the Mayan empire that was in his possession; apparently, he’d formed an unnatural attachment for the object and was no longer inclined to selling it to the MSO. Needless to say, they wouldn’t have been happy about that.
Given this information, Shawn wanted desperately to get into a position to bring these guys down. For years, they’d tried to get a spy into the organization, and had never succeeded. But this latest murder had given them the opportunity they had been seeking. How so? Because they now knew at least one member of the MSO, thanks to the informant, and they knew where he lived. Shawn was on his way there now. He would arrest the man and his team would then force him to tell them how he’d gotten his job, thus putting them in a position to place one of their people on the market for the job that had been vacated by the arrest of their new suspect. It was perfect.
Shawn turned onto the street where the man, known only as Iggy, was reported to be living. The house was peach colored, with an old, broken swing hanging from a large tree in the front yard. Shawn parked his car in the gravel driveway and stepped out, putting sunglasses on and ensuring that he had his gun in its holster. He then stepped up to the door and rang the bell. Nobody answered. Annoyed, Shawn let out a sigh and an instant later, kicked the door in. A putrid smell wafted out of the home and nearly sent him staggering backwards.
What the hell is that? he thought to himself in disgust, covering his mouth and nose with an arm and pulling his gun out as he crept into the door and took a look around the living room, his gun-arm sweeping the room in case someone tried to assail him. Seeing nothing he walked forward, towards the kitchen at the back of the house. And it was here that he found the body of Iggy; it was slouched against a stove, its face sticking on the burner. Apparently, whoever had killed the man had done it by cooking his face, which resulted in the horrible smell he’d gotten.
Bile found its way to his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down and left the kitchen to get his cell phone out of the car; unfortunately, he didn’t get there in time. As soon as he walked out of the kitchen, something jumped onto his back and he felt a piece of wire being pressed roughly against his throat, effectively cutting off his air supply. His hands quickly reached up to the hands of his attacker in an attempt to defend himself, his fingernails digging roughly into the exposed skin, but it didn’t seem to have an effect.
Spots danced across his vision as oxygen continued to be kept from him. A last burst of energy was all it took, though. Shawn had been trained by the CIA and knew what he should do if digging his nails in his attacker’s flesh didn’t work: He reached behind him and took hold of the neck of the unnamed culprit, roughly knocking it against his own in the process; it had the desired effect this time: the grip loosened enough for Shawn to slip out of the hold.
The second he was free, he quickly punched the attacker in the stomach, forcing him to bend over. Next, he sent a kick to the man’s face and another to his gut. When he was down, Shawn quickly grabbed his gun from the floor and pointed it at his would-be killer.
“Who are you?” he asked roughly, his free hand rubbing his abused wind-pipe; his assailant made no move to reply and Shawn felt his patience wear thin. He cocked the gun, and posed the question again. This time, he got a reaction, but not one he had intended.
The man on the floor took advantage of Shawn’s assumption of victory and kicked the gun out of the unsuspecting agent’s hand, sending it sailing across the floor. In the same movement, he shot up and gave a sharp uppercut to Shawn’s chin, jerking his head to the side. He followed this up with several punches to the gut that sent Shawn against a wall. He felt sure that at least two ribs were broken, possibly three, leaving him at a distinct disadvantage. Briefly, he allowed himself a moment of self-berating for having not called back-up earlier, just in case something like this happened, but it was only a minute. The second the thought passed, he grabbed his attacker by the neck and slammed their head against the very same wall he himself was plastered against. A very satisfying cracking sound answered him, so he did it again and again, until he was absolutely certain the man was unconscious, then he felt himself crumple to the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Not taking anymore chances, he crawled over to his now unconscious attacker and handcuffed him before slipping off the mask he wore.
The face he saw was disgustingly scarred and disfigured and Shawn felt a look of disgust cross his face as he wondered what the hell had happened to make him look like that. The thought passed just as quickly as his last thought of back-up and he forced himself to his feet, groaning as this caused a sharp twinge of pain to swallow up his awareness. He ignored the pain and grabbed the man by the arms, using every bit of his strength to pull the man out of the house and tossing him into the car before slumping into the driver’s seat and pulling out his cell phone.
The office answered on the first ring. “This is Agent Shawn Rembrandt reporting. I went to the location of the man, code-named “Iggy” and found him murdered in his home; I was then assaulted by someone I suspect of having been the one to kill him. I received two broken ribs, possibly three, and was nearly strangled to death, but other than that, I’m perfectly fine; Yes, I have the attacker in the back of my car. Thank you, sir.” With the conclusion of the call, he felt his mind begin to dull and his sight begin to fade.
Oh, Shit, he thought, I’m going to pass out. And he did just that.
He had almost made it when suddenly the door to his room slid open and he turned, a look of a deer in headlights quickly forming on his face; none other than his partner, Emily Willis, stood in the doorway, her dull brown hair done up in curls and her slightly crooked glasses gleaming as she gave him a look of intense disapproval.
“I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, Rembrandt, but you had best sit your ass down right now, if you know what’s good for you,” she said, folding her arms across her chest briefly before reaching up a single hand to adjust her glasses.
Emily looked harmless enough, given that she had freckles and large, innocent brown eyes and was about as big around as a toothpick, but Shawn knew enough not to mess with her; she’d become a spy for the CIA for a reason. Quickly, he sat down and warily watched her as she stepped closer.
“What you did today was foolish, pig-headed and more stupid than you even realize! You could’ve gotten more injured, or worse, killed, and--”
Shawn held up a hand as he remembered the events of the day in more detail now. “Emily, what happened to the guy?”
She gave him a puzzled look as he stopped her mid-sentence and she adjusted her glasses once more. “What guy?”
Frustration seemed to bubble out of him. “The guy! The one who attacked me! The one who was in the back of the car! Have you questioned him yet?”
Emily sighed and took a seat next to him. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but--”
“But what? Emily, what happened?”
She sighed again. “There was no guy, Shawn. When we got there, he had left and you were just sitting slumped in your seat. At first, we were worried that you had been killed and that we were too late, but then we realized you were just unconscious because of your injuries. Even so, he wasn’t there anymore,” she explained.
“But that’s impossible! I nearly bashed the bastard’s head in, and even put him in handcuffs for good measure!” Shawn protested, his face turning red due to his anger, both at himself and at the man he had caught. How the fuck had he escaped!?
“Well, it happened, and yelling at me isn’t going to change the fact,” Emily said, turning her head away from him petulantly and folding her arms across her chest in anger.
Shawn reluctantly apologized and she turned back to him, the offense having been instantly forgotten. “But there is one good thing we got out of all this,” she said with a grin.
“What’s that?” Shawn asked, perking up slightly.
“You know the guy who told us about Iggy?”
“Yeah…?”
“Turns out, he was withholding some information. Apparently, when he realized that Iggy had been murdered and the assassin still at large, he figured he would need extra protection, and offered to give us more information in exchange for that protection. He told us that he himself was a part of the organization, and let us in on how to become employed. The Big Boss has decided that, as soon as you’re better, you can take the job,” she informed him triumphantly.
Shawn felt excitement well up in him, but it died just as quickly as he shook his head. Emily gave him a puzzle look, and so, he spoke. “The assassin, remember? He knows what I look like; If I get spotted by him, I’m through.” Shawn wanted badly to be the one to go undercover, but knew that it was impossible; the logic part of his brain told him as much.
Emily sighed. “They don’t really let females join the organization, except as assassins, and I’m neither skilled enough nor inclined to kill for hire, even for the sake of catching these baddies.”
“Shit! I don’t want to give this case to any of the other teams, but it looks like we’re at a stale-mate. What else can we do?”
Emily opened her mouth to speak once more, but a commotion outside caused her to stop and turn to see what had happened; Shawn did the same and was stunned when Anthony plowed his way into the room, looking ruffled. Alex followed in embarrassment.
Shawn sighed in exasperation at his family and Emily chuckled softly, turning back to him. “I’ll leave you guys alone. But Shawn, I’ll talk to Mr. Burns, see if we can get an extension on our decision; we’ll think of something.”
Shawn nodded and Emily took her leave, Anthony rushing over to him. “What the hell happened? Do you have any idea how worried I was when they called and told me you were in the hospital!? And then…then they wouldn’t even explain to me why!”
As his father let loose his tirade, Shawn sent a look to Alex that quite plainly said, ‘Why the fuck did you let him find out about this?’
Alex shrugged in response, eliciting a growl of frustration from his elder brother. Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Dad, it’s alright. I only got a few broken ribs while on assignment…” he tried to explain.
“Assignment? What assignment? I thought this was just a murder you were investigating! People don’t get attacked after the murder!”
Shawn rubbed his temples for a moment to dispel the tension there. How was he going to explain this? “It doesn’t really matter, dad. What happened, happened and there’s not much we can do about it now except catch the fucker who did it. Now, mind if I crash at your place for a while? I’m not really sure my place is safe right now,” he asked. The quick change of subject seemed to work as his father no longer started in on him, but instead agreed to let him stay. He then warned him that Alex was going to stay for a while, too, and that he didn’t want any arguing. Shawn agreed to keep things to a minimum, and that was the end of it. Another bullet dodged, all in one day. Shawn felt he needed a really long vacation.