Out of the Ordinary — First Issue

Out of the Ordinary

Aislinn’s heart pounded over-loud in her ears, and she struggled to master the panic, raw and untamed, that raced through her. They would kill her, without thought or reason.

“Move! Move! MOVE!”

She complied without question to the command from the somber clad figure who held a semi-automatic weapon aimed steadily at the crowd of Sunday shoppers. A few seconds before the steady hum of normal life had been shattered by gunfire and shouted instructions. People scattered, screaming, as a sinister group of men seemed to materialize from among them. Raw emotion was everywhere; panic propelling the crowd along the mall passage as their captors drove them forward.

“Over here, all of you — NOW!”

They’d reached a large central courtyard where the corridors of the mall complex converged. Growling and impatient, the men motioned for the frightened shoppers to gather at its center. Pressed closely with the rest, Aislinn’s frightened gaze moved over the scene. To one side a middle-aged woman and her mother held hands. Clustered in front of her several teenage employees were frozen in stunned disbelief. Glancing to her left, she met the steady gaze of the man who stood there, and a breathless moment passed as wide heather-hued eyes stared into reassuring green ones.

“Silence!”

The barked command stifled the hushed voices, leaving them to watch as more darkly clad men streamed from each corridor, leading other groups of shoppers and employees to join the group in the courtyard. Clearly one of the men directed the actions of others, gesturing intently and speaking in a curt, authoritative tone. The ever-growing group of captives stood under the watch of weapons held by men whose glittering eyes blazed hatred.

“You,” one soldier gestured with his weapon to a girl standing trembling at the front of the crowd. Young and fresh faced, her long blonde hair was pulled back, making her seem even younger. “Come forward.”

The crowd watched as another of the men ran his hands over the girl, forcing her to remove the shapeless smock of her store uniform. Satisfied, the soldier motioned her to a space against a blank wall, where a third man stood with weapon at the ready.

It would be a while before they’d reach him, and the man at Aislinn’s side took full advantage of this time, his eyes moving over the scene, assessing the threat and watching, always watching. The men motioned shoppers to them in turn, checking for weapons before collecting identification, which they then tossed in a heap on the floor. Special Agent John Starke had no illusions about his fate once his identity was known. Intent green eyes continued to move over the scene, coming at last to rest on the frightened woman at his side.

She glanced up at him, sensing his gaze upon her. Keep your head, he mouthed silently, earning a grateful half-smile in return.

Knowing he must take that same advice, John continued to watch, waiting patiently for an opportunity to present itself. As it happened, it came in the form of the elderly woman who stood just to the right, her sudden loss of consciousness sending her slipping to the floor. Those around her reached to break her fall, her daughter gasping as she knelt at her mother’s side.

“She’s fainted,” someone said.

Hidden by the sudden press of people, John slipped a hand inside the pocket of his jacket, deftly removing the folded identification he carried and dropping it to the floor. Questioning violet eyes caught the gesture, and Aislinn glanced from the worn brown case to his face and back again. It mustn’t be seen. With a soundless flick of her ankle she sent the telltale item skidding silently along the polished floor, coming to rest under the huge granite planter that dominated the courtyard.

“Get her up,” the icy command came, and the woman’s daughter struggled to comply.

 “Please… she’s 82 years old — she can’t take this,” the daughter begged. The men remained stone-faced, resolute.

The incident had caught the attention of the leader of the force, and he surveyed them from where he stood, his eyes ice cold and assessing.  “Be about your business men.”

The search resumed, ruthless hands moving over the old woman, her feeble protests falling on deaf ears. Her daughter was next, and then it was Aislinn’s turn. She cringed as rough hands lingered about her waist for longer than was necessary. Amazingly, she’d held onto her purse, and she handed it over to another of the men, his malevolent gaze boring into her. She could almost smell his hatred, and she shuddered, chilled. He dumped the contents of her purse onto the polished floor.

“Pathetic.”

Then it was over and she was shoved in the direction of the others.

John was next, the men handling him more roughly than any of the others. There was something about him that roused their dislike, “What? No ID?”

He shrugged. “Guess I forgot it at home.”

The leader, overhearing the exchange, crossed to stand before them. “What’s your name?”

“John,” came the reply. “John Starke.”

“No weapon?”

“Nothing, sir.”

The older man returned his attention to John. “Forgot it?” he questioned disbelievingly, “Or… lost it perhaps?”

Aislinn’s breath caught in her throat, and her gaze went unwillingly to the place where his identification had come to rest. She offered a silent, desperate prayer that it would escape notice.

“Forgot it,” John maintained, his steady gaze meeting the other man’s.

Wary gray eyes moved from John to where he had been standing. For a breathless moment it seemed he was satisfied with his inspection, but then ice gray eyes caught sight of something just visible against the polished floor. He strode over to the spot, bending to retrieve the well-worn case. He sent the younger man a triumphant look. “So then this one, right here, wouldn’t be yours?”

John weighed his options, knowing his life hung on his answer. “That could be anyone’s.”

The commander of the force flipped open the case, his eyes narrowing at the image that stared back at him. “Well… what have we here? A federal ID, with a picture that looks amazingly like you,” he paused, snapping the case closed with a crack that echoed through the tense silence. “Seems you’ve got some explaining to do g-man — ”

John was spared having to answer by the sounds of renewed fighting that suddenly split the silence — a shouted word, a crash of glass followed quickly by bursts of gunfire. The telltale sounds sent ripples of panic through the assembled crowd; gasps and sobs escaping into the uneasy silence that followed. The leader of the men thrust his lone captive toward the larger group.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” he tossed over his shoulder, motioning for several of the men to follow him as he headed in the direction of the sounds.
 
To Be Continued…