Don't You Watch TV?

 358.

"This is like walking into Hell," I comment to my captor. He has loosened the pressure of his weapon against the back of my head as we slowly walk towards the parking garage. There are explosions and the fierce sounds of several fire-fights in progress and I also hear the nearing of what sounds like two SWAT choppers. I wonder if Sheener knows that he is a dead man walking, a breathing crime scene investigation about to happen.

We have almost 200 yards to cover on the Capitol lawn before we reach the intended destination, but no 'official' route. I try to veer right away from the main street that will surely be congested with police any time now. It also takes us closer to where Mustang fell. I can see that she is still motionless so I play the face-card with her image on the emotional bond the two created in their initial visit; "You have my word, that should you surrender into my custody RIGHT NOW, I will do everything in my power to see that it is taken into consideration."

"Shut up and walk," Sheener hisses.

"Because, also, if you do it NOW, you'll get to read that book and I can guarantee that it WILL change your life."

His lack of a quick response sends the message that the offer is under consideration. The low altitude choppers are creating a din that actually cuts through the cacophony of gunfire, explosions and alarms. We are at critical mass, that point where all previous plans - no matter their brilliance and potential - need immediate revision. I go for broke.

"Look, she is wounded, right there, at least let me make an assessment and if there is hope call for a medic. You owe her that respect, Tim."

Again he is silent.

"Sheener," I scream, "This is it, they will cut us down like stalks of ripe corn if we don't do something. All I am asking is to check her condition."

"OK, but make it quick," He says, steering my direction with the gun barrel.

We cover the fifteen feet fast, my legs still full of long dormant energy. I kneel beside her and check for pulse. As I do another explosion rocks the very ground beneath us. I am surprised to see that she is wearing a vest. It is standard FBI issue and I know what is inside the velcro sealed pocket at her left breast. I fiegn a closer listen to her heart, and use my freshly functional right hand to open the pocket and pull its contents out as another explosion shakes us again.

In one move I pop the Microtech Halo open and spin from my kneel to the legs of Sheener, who has cowered from the blast, driving the razor sharp tactical blade into his right calf. He goes down with a scream capable of coagulating blood, drops his weapon and reaches for his wound, evidently thinking that direct pressure is the first response.

I grab his handgun and wrestle him onto his belly, putting my knee over the back of his neck. Assailant secured, I reach for my phone to identify ourselves, provide location  and call for immediate medical assistance.

I see one of the SWAT choppers about to set down to our immediate right. I direct them to Mustang with a "she needs immediate attention, I got this guy, minor knife wound, he'll live."

I move closer to Sheener to add additional private commentary, "Rule Number Nine motherfucker, don't you watch TV?"