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Chapter -14- Son of a Gun

Saturday, July 22, 2049 - mid-morning Seattle, Washington ...

"Her name is Aimee. It's been a whirlwind romance. But it's unlike anything ever." The twenty-six year old boy shifted his cellphone to his other ear, glanced back at a girl sitting inside the diner, and then continued pacing on the walkway in front. "It's weird, man. I'd do anything for her. I'd cut out my own right rib for this girl, but she wouldn't need it because God already molded her to be perfect."

A boy's voice came over the line. "Wow, Rama. That's cheesy as hell, man. Sweet and all, but cheesy. What's her sign?"

"She was born in early January."

"Capricorn. She's a good match for you, Taurus."

"That's weird, Dion."

"What? That I'm into zodiac and astrological synastry? This coming from a guy who just said he'd rip out a rib for a girl he's only known for a month or so."

"Yeah. Still, it's how I feel." Rama shifted direction and asked, "How's Athens? I miss home."

"Still standing. I heard there's a scale copy of the Parthenon in America. Go check it out."

"I think it's in Tennessee or something. Nowhere near here. How's my American English? I've been practicing."

"Sounds like you've been watching more American movies, Rama. Look, I've got to go. Good luck in the states, man. Come visit anytime. You can crash on my sofa."

"Thanks Dion. Take care." Rama ended the call and walked back into the diner. He made his way around the row of tables then slid back into his seat, facing the girl sitting in front of two plates of food. "Sorry. That was my friend from back home."

"You've never mentioned any of your friends until now. What's he like?"

"He goes by Dion. And for the record, Dion has no idea what we are, or that our kind exists. But we've been friends since I started school."

"You went to public school as a kid?"

"Yeah. Hide in plain sight, that sort of thing."

"What if you manifested?" she asked in a low tone, incredulous at the thought of a werewolf in high school. "God. _Teen Wolf_seems too on the nose."

"Luckily it didn't happen in school. Actually, I was a late bloomer. My first was a few years ago. I was already old enough to buy beer."

"Wow. That is late. So go on, you were talking about your friend."

Rama shrugged with a grin. "In grade school, some kids were picking on Dion and I stood up for him. We've been buddies ever since."

"Dion is a Greek name?"

"Dionysus Alexander Ambrose, yeah, pretty Greek, huh?"

"Now_that_ is a Greek name. What kind of name is 'Rama Darken' anyhow?"

"If I knew my father, I'd tell you." He offered a shrug and took his wallet out then showed her a photograph of Rufus Darken. "It's a copy of the only one my mother has of him. She said he passed away in February of 2024."

Aimee paused to think about the math then frowned. "Just three months before you were born."

"Yeah, sucks huh?" He saw her facial expression grow sullen and it caused him to frown. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a sad subject. I hate seeing you frown."

Aimee offered a gentle smile then took a sip from her soda. She set the glass down and rotated it so that the side she'd sipped from was facing away from herself. "So where were we?"

"You were just about to tell me your brilliant idea for how you'd change Caesar's calendar to an eight-day week."

"Right," she said with a firm nod. "So hear me out. I call it the 'Eighth Floating Day' calendar week. I should run for president based solely on this platform."

He rubbed his chin with a grin. "Go on."

"Eight days in a week. Thirty days in a month. The eighth day is a Floating Day, and can be used as either an extra workday, or an extra weekend day, dependent on the individual person's needs that week. Then, this leaves five days left over for a mandatory holiday."

He stared at her for a moment and rubbed his chin again. "That's ... interesting."

"Think about it - because of American guilt, most people would choose to work. And the ones that don't on that eighth day aren't messing with the system. And Lord knows we all need a three-day weekend every now and then. And a mandatory five days of work is nice, because lots of people refuse to actually take their vacations and it boils them over."

He leaned forward and spoke in a softer tone. "Werewolf for president. The secret service would have a field day trying to keep tabs on you when you go out for a midnight run."

"Hah. I'm not thirty-five yet. I can't run for president until I'm a bit older. So it's all right. Maybe in the future."

Rama grinned. "You can start the new calendar system when Yellowstone blows up and we all move to South America. But you'll have to learn Portuguese."

"Heh, right. You know they figured a way to release the pressure without setting off the damn thing. Studies suggest it might be at least a thousand more years before we have to worry about that thing wiping out what's left of America."

"We can all move to the old district coast. It's narrow, prone to quakes, and layered with radiation. We'll call it 'Neo Japan.'"

"That's horrible. And that happened a hundred years ago."

"No, no, I'm not talking about World War II, I'm talking about Fukushima. It was in the news this morning, they're doing tours of the exclusion zone, now. Anything for a buck, even if it means your tour guide will have leukemia."

"Japan has the same population as Russia, but they're running out of land." She took another sip from her glass then rotated it again. The light impression of her lips faced away on the brim of the glass. "So if your mom is from Iceland, how did you wind up living in Athens?"

"Long story short, there was some sort of situation where the family in Iceland - the whole town of us, to be exact - wound up dead. Sorry, I know it's a crappy subject again. Mom was the only survivor."

"Can you speak Icelandic?"

"Úlfey Sigvorðdóttir. That's how you say mom's name. She taught me the basics but wanted me to focus on English because it's used everywhere. I can barely read Icelandic, but I speak it well enough to know when she's grumpy with me, or if she wants me to do something around the house. I learned Greek from school, but she preferred me to speak mainly English. I've been practicing my dialect to fit in over here."

"I can tell. You pronounce certain vowels like a British person."

Rama tilted his head. "How do you mean. I sound like you sound."

"You're trying," she said with a grin.

"So while we're talking about our past, what's your story?"

"I was actually born in Alaska, but we moved before I learned how to speak. I have two sisters. One is still in Alaska, the other one is being raised in Oklahoma."

"Wow, you have siblings?"

Aimee frowned again. "I barely know them. Which is weird because we're triplets."

Rama blinked. "Man, that's crap. You're all born together and you don't even get to see each other? Why?"

She shrugged. "To protect the pack. You know how you just mentioned that your people were killed in Iceland? My people were originally located in Alaska. Most of them were killed, same as your people. So we split everyone up and kept our heads low. I was raised by a Native American family in Arizona. They took me in because of my werewolf heritage, but I got teased a lot for being a white girl."

"Yeah, I got teased for not being Greek as a kid. But bullies learned to hate me real fast." Rama licked his lips then smiled at the girl. "So, Native American, huh? What people?"

"Navajo Nation."

"Is that the one with the one guy, White Feather, who had all those prophecies you hear about on _History Channel_documents?"

"Uhm, that's Hopi. He prophesized a bunch of 'signs,' saying that White People would overrun the land, bring their Longhorns, lay down train tracks and paved streets. So far, there haven't been any black seas, or hippies joining the locals."

"So, what made you want to attend college here in Washington State?"

Aimee replied with a thin frown. "These people in black uniforms came looking for one of my sisters - the one living in Oklahoma. She also lived with Native Americans ... the Cherokee Nation. There was an actual attack."

"Oh shit, seriously?"

She nodded with a grimace. "Yeah. Scary right? Anyhow, if there is a serious crime on a reservation, it's FBI jurisdiction. Native Americans are basically protected by the US Government on paper."

"So what happened to your sister?" Rama picked up his fork but fidgeted with the food, more interested in talking to her.

"The FBI put her into a protection program and moved her out of the area. They helped her secure a scholarship and she's in college right now. I don't know where."

"So how did that turn into you moving up here?"

Aimee shrugged. "The Feds came to Arizona and found me last year. They said they had information that the attackers were after my family. I'm on a reservation, so they asked me to move and go back to college. I've already done my undergrad and walked away with a Bachelor of Science. I never really considered going back to school, or majoring in anything. But it's a free ride with a full scholarship."

"I'm glad you came here. I'm glad I got to meet you. I've actually never met another like me, before."

She smiled softly and reached across the table, giving his hand a squeeze. "I like you." She reached for her glass, took a sip then set it back down and rotated it.

"So are you in protection too? Is your name really Aimee Sebevan? Were you a James Bond Girl in your last life?"

"Oh Jesus. No, I'm too fat to be a Bond Girl."

"No you're not."

"Reality check, Rama. Yes, I am. You have to be scrawny to be in front of a camera, because you look bigger on a big screen. And, no, I didn't change my name. I'm not in some sort of protection program like my sister. There's no reason to do that. I wasn't attacked. Being moved was a safety precaution."

"Oh, okay." Rama noticed the sun was in her eyes. He stood up and drew the shade over the window. It was made of slats, allowing them to see outside, but redirecting the sunlight into a series of lines across their plates of food. "Sorry, the sun was in my eyes," he said.

"No it wasn't." She smiled. "Thank you. That was sweet of you to notice."

Rama felt his masculine ego inflated. "So how do you like Seattle?"

"I kind of like it here. Cooler climate."

"More rain."

"I like the rain. It's different."

"Fair enough." Rama paused then asked, "What about your adoptive parents? Were they cool?"

"Actually, my stepmother is in remission from ovarian cancer right now, and my stepfather is amazing with rebuilding classic cars, but he's learning how to cope with diabetes."

"That sucks. Were they upset you came up here for school?"

"Yeah, it was hard for them to let me go. They have two sons - my stepbrothers are strong boys ... healthy as can be. But their biological daughter died from pneumonia last year. They're still grieving. It was hard for them to let me go. Hell, I took it hard. She was my sister, too - I grew up with her."

"Pneumonia? That's ... who dies from that anymore, unless you have some sort of genetic lung problems?"

"You're thinking of Cystic Fibrosis, Rama."

"Yeah, that."

"That wasn't her problem, actually. My stepsister had something called Severe Combined Immunodeficiency. Apparently it's prevalent among the Navajo people. She pretty much didn't have an immune system."

"Oh. Damn. So they looked at you as the only daughter left in their family, huh?"

"Exactly." Aimee poked the food on her plate with a fork. "I think I'm going to get mine to go. Hey, though, what about your folks?" She nodded towards his father's photo. "Your dad was a looker. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

He put the photo of Rufus back into his wallet. "Mom got some of his belongings after he passed away. Something about an attack at sea. He was killed in the Atlantic by those people that wear black uniforms. Someone who knew him brought his belongings to Greece. She found my mother and delivered the bad news. That's how mom got the picture."

"Your mom didn't have any other pictures of him before that? Why not?"

Rama offered a wry grin, however slight. "This sounds awful but I was the byproduct of a one-night-stand."

"Oh. Oh my."

"Mom said my father died a hero's death. I don't know why but that brings me some comfort, you know? If you're going to go, then go down swinging."

"So when your dad's friend brought his belongings to your mom, what sorts of things did he own? Anything that clues you in to what he was like?"

Rama frowned thoughtfully. "Not really. He lived light. The photograph, of course. Let's see, there a saltshaker that looks like it was broken and later glued back together ... uhm, just a few trinkets. There was a necklace with the Fenris symbol." Rama pulled it from beneath his shirt and showed her. "And a faded brown leather jacket. There's also two ceramic bottles of original Old Spice. One is aftershave; the other is cologne. They're both half-full. Apparently the bottles are from the 1980's."

Aimee smirked. "So that's what you're wearing."

"Guilty as charged."

"And a salt shaker, hmm? You know salt is important old-world stuff."

"How so?"

She took a sip from her glass then placed it back on the table and rotated it once more. "Salt was considered sacred. It was used to create circles to commune with other beings. It's apparently used in casting spells. It's used in holy water, it was used in trade, as a preservative, as a spice for food..."

"Mom keeps the saltshaker on her nightstand. She's really protective of it."

"Oh. It must be something that reminds her of him. We ladies can be sentimental like that sometimes."

"Apparently my mother gave him the saltshaker before he died. She got it back afterwards."

"Oh. Interesting. She's protective of it, yet she gave it to him after a one-night stand? I wonder what the significance is."

"I have no idea. I never really thought anything of it."

Aimee's eyes lifted. She narrowed her gaze. "Rama, look. Five men just walked in. They're wearing black pants and black vests over their shirts. Tell me that's not a coincidence."

Rama casually glanced over his shoulder then looked back at his girlfriend. "I don't see any patches or badges. They're not cops." He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "But they're loaded up with guns. You think they're the people we were talking about?"

"You mean, do I think they're the ones who killed your father and attacked my sister?"

"Yeah. That's one way to put it."

The blood drained out of her face. She nodded slowly.

"What's wrong," he whispered.

"They're looking at me," she said in a hushed tone. "They're coming this way, Rama. And they're keeping eye contact with me." She swallowed and reached for her phone. Aimee activated the screen and put her thumb on the glassy surface.

Four of the five men approached the table. Rama saw the other talking to the owner of the diner by the register. Rama licked his lips then looked up at the four men now stopped in front of his table. He tightened his jaw, looking them over. "Can we help you with something?" They were definitely armed. Up close, he counted way more weapons than he initially saw.

The one closest to the table spoke. "Aimee Sebevan? You're coming with us." Two black guys, two white guys. The one in charge was a tan white man, looking to be in his early thirties.

"Excuse me?" Aimee glanced down at her phone then swallowed with a frown. She turned it towards Rama and showed him a message on the screen - she had no reception.

Rama checked his own phone. No reception, either.

Her eyes lifted, slowly, sizing up the men. "Who are you?"

"FBI. We need you to come with us immediately. We're your escort detail."

"Who is your ASAC, or immediate supervisor?"

"Miss Sebevan there's no time to explain. You have to come with us immediately."

She glanced at Rama then back at the men. "You seem nervous. Are you nervous?"

"We're expecting someone to come for you. We need to move you right away."

Rama looked down at the food on the plates, wishing he'd eaten instead of chatted. Now he wasn't going to eat at all. Rama looked back up and said, "You never answered her question. She asked the name of your A-Sack, or whatever it's called."

Aimee lowered her gaze, seeing one of the four men had his hand near the gun on his belt. "You expect me to believe you're FBI?" She watched the man's nervous hand, so close to the weapon. "Where did you go to FLETC?" she asked, pronouncing the acronym, 'Flet-See.'

"We don't have time for this, we have to go," said the one closest to the table, adding, "now."

"Show me some identification."

The man withdrew a wallet with a gold badge. He gave her a few seconds to study the badge, then he flipped the wallet over and thumbed a flap, showing his credentials. "Let's go, Miss Sebevan."

Aimee pursed her lips momentarily then frowned. "Did you know that you can face up to over one hundred combined years in prison for faking that badge? A real one is exactly three-by-three inches. Also, on a real badge, Lady Justice has the scales in her right hand, and the sword in her left and she's holding it by the blade beneath the parry. Your badge depicts her holding the sword by the handle. ASAC Philip Michener Junior told me that I should expect you people, and he showed me how to spot fake badges. I'd love to call and confirm with your field office, but my cell reception is suddenly being blocked. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

Rama looked back at Aimee. It seemed as though she'd switched from flight to fight, having no other way out of this situation. He had to admit she was fiery when cornered. Not the sweaty-palmed girl who acted shy at the coffee shop when he met her a month ago.

The man with the hand near his gun pointed at Rama. "Sir, he's got a Fenris necklace."

"I see it," said the one closest to the table. "Quiet."

Aimee glanced at Rama. Outwardly, she seemed calm and collected, but her eyes told a different story. That nervous girl was in there, hiding behind the aggressive werewolf blood pumping through her veins.

Rama folded his arms and looked up at the group. "Way to out yourselves, gentlemen. I mean, that wasn't obvious or anything. 'Aw, gee, boss! The boy has a Norse necklace!'

The man in charge knelt in front of their table, nearly eye-to-eye with them. "My name is Wilhelm Snipes. I've been doing this line of work for a very, very long time."

Aimee arched her brows. "Funny - you don't look old."

Snipes ignored her comment. "This can go one of four ways. Harm comes to the two of you; harm comes to my team and me, or harm comes to both sides. Nobody wants those three things to happen. So let's consider the fourth option - you two come with us, peacefully, and we explain things when we're on the move."

Aimee looked back at her phone screen. Still no reception. She thumbed a button to deactivate the screen then stuffed it into her pocket. "I like option number five. We eat, you leave."

"No," said Snipes. "That's akin to option number one - harm comes to the two of you. I'm here to protect you, but in order to do my job, you have to come with me."

A marked FBI sedan pulled up in front of the diner. It looked like a regular police cruiser. The driver stepped out wearing an 'FBI Police' badge and uniform. A passenger stepped out, wearing an inexpensive three-piece dress suit. He affixed his tie at his neck and adjusted a gold tie clip over his solar plexus.

Aimee saw the eyes of one of the mercenaries. She looked at Rama, who was looking out the window as well, then she peered out and smiled. "Here comes ASAC Michener, as we speak. We'll clear this right up, won't we? Oh, I forgot to tell you that I let them track my phone. You're blocking reception, so it probably set off an alarm. Their field office is on 3rdAvenue. I have to admit, they got here pretty fast."

Snipes stood up slowly. He glanced over his shoulder at the other three. "They were following us. Scott, head out there and make conversation with the man in the suit. She said his name is ASAC Philip Michener Junior."

One of the men in black gear left, headed for the door.

Snipes folded his arms, looking down at Aimee and Rama. "Are you two coming or not?"

"Boy, you're desperate," said Rama. "She doesn't know you. She apparently knows the guy that's coming in, and you want us to go with you before he gets here? You're nuts."

"You have a sharp eye for badges," said Snipes, his attention on Aimee. "But..."

Rama eased up from the booth, kneeling up on his right knee to become taller. "How about you back up and give us some personal space? And stop leering at her like she's a target. I see the way you look at my girl. Back up."

"Rama..."

"It's okay. I'm tired of this guy being our faces. Any real FBI would let us call the field office without trying to weasel out of it. He'd invite us to use a landline in the diner's back office, or let us use his cellphone. This guy is being evasive and I'm out of patience."

Snipes' eyes slowly panned towards Rama with a cold glare. "Sit. The fuck. Down. Or, so help me God, I will strangle you to death with that stupid necklace, boy."

"Boy? You barely look a few years older than me. How long have you been doing this again? Tell me."

"I said sit down." Snipes looked around and saw that everyone in the diner was staring at him.

"You lost control of the situation, huh?" Rama stayed up, his left foot on the floor and right knee on the bench cushion. "You guys should change your uniform. It makes people uncomfortable. You see ... people in black killed her sister and my father."

"You have no idea what you're talking about kid."

Rama grimaced, failing in his attempt to trick the man into outing himself. "Fine. But you just told us to get up and come with you, and now you're telling me to sit down. Sounds like you're the one who doesn't know what he's talking about."

Aimee sighed. "All of you sit down until Michener gets in here."

Snipes narrowed his eyes. He turned to the two men behind him and gestured to the other two men at the front of the diner. "We're leaving." He headed for the rear exit.

"Hey!" Michener called, coming in through the front door of the diner. "No, you're not leaving. You're impersonating federal agents."

Aimee smirked. "Toldja the badge was fake. I see Phil also noticed you guys are all carrying fakes. What? You guys didn't plan for him showing up this fast? They're the real FBI."

"I'll be back for you two mutts," said Snipes in a cold tone. He withdrew his pistol and fired. Everyone in the diner dove beneath his or her tables. Someone in the kitchen shrieked. "Go, out the back door. Have the car running."

The other two men dashed for the rear exit. Snipes fired two more times, then side nodded at Scott. He casually strolled towards the front doors, keeping his gun pointed at Michener and the man in uniform.

Phil, now on the ground, reached for his pistol that lay nearby.

"Scott, go," said Snipes, adding, "You go with him," to the fifth man of his group. They hurried out the front door. Wilhelm pointed his weapon down and discharged it into the uniformed officer's forehead.

Rama's eyes went wide. "I'm going after..."

Aimee stood up and shoved him down onto the booth seat. "The hell you are. They have way more guns and they were just leaving."

"He's about to execute your friend..."

"Shut up, baby, please. They will kill you."

Rama slid out of the booth and stood in the aisle. "Hey!" he shouted. "Snipes! You want to see what this mutt can do?!"

"Rama!" she hissed, afraid to lose him so soon after having just met him. "Please!"

Michener rolled over and coughed, hands on the front of his chest where he'd been shot. He shifted the weight of the vest he wore beneath his shirt. "Do it, asshole."

Snipes, who had a gun against Phil's forehead, whirled about and fired at the approaching boy.

Rama ducked towards an empty table. The deafening crack of un-silenced gunshots caused most everyone to hold their ears. Snipes continued to fire as Rama shoved through the aisles with the least amount of people. He dove into the kitchen.

Snipes fired several more times until the slide on his weapon popped back. He reached for another magazine secured on his gear belt.

Michener withdrew his secondary handgun and pointed it up then discharged it one time.

The bullet grazed across Snipes' vest, causing the man to lose his balance. He tumbled into the front doors, leading outside. He stumbled, reloading his weapon just as a van pulled up in front. The side door slid open. Snipes discharged three more rounds through the front door, causing the glass doors to shatter in the vestibule.

Snipes dove into the van and it pulled away. Aimee watched it through the window, reciting the license plate out loud several times. She pulled her phone out and texted the number to herself. It didn't send, but the information was on the screen. As the van pulled off the lot, her phone showed the return of full reception. The text went through then chimed on her phone, receiving it.

She stood up and looked around for Rama then made her way towards the kitchen. "They're gone. Where are you?"

"I'm okay," Rama said, standing up from behind the waitress station. He approached her and they hugged. "I'm sorry. I had to draw his fire."

"You're brave and stupid," she breathed against his neck.

"Come on, let's check on your friend. He was shot." He placed his hand on her bicep and guided her up the aisle towards the entrance of the diner.

Michener was talking into the radio connected to the dead officer's gear belt.

Aimee knelt besides the agent and unbuttoned his shirt. She pulled the clip-on tie away from his collar and threw it aside. She ran her fingers over two slugs in the vest. "US Government plates," she said, then recited the combination of letters and numbers.

Philip winced and raised one arm, letting her work the shirt off of him. He used his other hand to keep the radio button pressed in. "Did you catch that? US Government plates on a silver van. Either the van or the plates are stolen." Then he used the military phonetic alphabet to recite the numbers and letters of the license plate. He repeated it one more time, adding, "Officer Lucas is down. He's ... dead." Michener released the button on the radio receiver and slumped back against the podium with the cash register.

Aimee pulled his other shirtsleeve off then she unfastened his vest and eased it from him. The agent's undershirt was sweaty and crumpled up on one side, stuck to his skin. Perspiration covered the agent's face. Aimee used his dress shirt to wipe his face and said, "You've got some serious bruises. You okay?"

"No. That asshole shot him right in his head." Phil stared at the uniformed officer he'd called 'Lucas' over the radio. "He put the gun right against my ear. I had the wind knocked out of me. My body was all cramped up. I figured that was it. It was over. Then he started shooting wildly towards the patrons."

"Calm down, catch your breath," Aimee said. She reached for the hem of his undershirt and pulled it down, so it was even on all sides. "My new boyfriend, the one you said I shouldn't be dating, drew his fire until he ran out of bullets. He saved your ass."

Phil looked up at Rama and offered a weak smile. "For the record, I said she shouldn't be dating in general. She should keep her head down and blend in. But thank you."

Rama looked over at the dead man on the floor. "Dating is blending in. It's normal." He swallowed, staring at the blood. "Christ. I can't believe ... I've never seen so much blood, I mean, I just ... I'm," he licked his lips apprehensively, took a deep breath, then said, "I'm sorry your coworker died." He looked back at Aimee and said, "I should have ripped them apart before they had a chance to draw their guns."

Michener looked at one of the patrons with a cellphone camera and shouted, "Get back! Do_not_ take fucking pictures of this officer! What the hell is wrong with you? The media will release that before the family is notified! So help me God, I will arrest you for obstructing justice if you don't put that goddamn camera away! Show some respect for the dead!"

The patron slinked back to the table and hunched down like a scolded child.

Aimee, who was biting her lower lip, said, "I've never heard you raise your voice before. I'm sorry he was killed. We have reception again." She looked around then in a louder voice, asked, "Did anyone call 911?"

Someone at one of the rear tables said, "I did, just after I got bars back. The cops are on their way. I got the plates off that van. I told them on the phone."

Aimee looked back to Michener. "Can you stand?"

"Yeah. I'll be all right. I'm pretty sure I have a broken rib. I don't need to puncture my lungs, so I'll stay still. At this rate, they'll get a BOLO out on that van, and hopefully we catch the bastards." He looked back up at Rama and said, "I'm glad you didn't transform. We already have one dickhead who's shutter happy. God, I can't believe that guy."

"Just calm down," Aimee said. "How do you know about Rama?"

"I've known. You're both the same. And your sister, Aimee. I always knew. My father was only in one firefight his whole career with the bureau. And it was to protect people who could do some wild stuff. Same thing happened to him, he saw his coworkers killed. He struggled with PTSD for five years because of that. I don't want to become like that. Goddammit. He warned me this could happen. I never thought it could happen to me."

Aimee held the vest up and showed him the two indented spots with the slugs still buried in the padding. "You see how high these are? He almost put two bullets in your heart, agent. And you said he was about to put one into your head. Obviously you weren't meant to die. You're meant to do something else. How about you get a new lease on life and track down that man. He called himself William Snipes."

"Wilhelm," Rama corrected.

Aimee nodded firmly, "Right, Wilhelm. That was it." She refrained from looking at the dead officer. "You're okay, Agent Michener. You, uh ... what's protocol after a firefight?"

Michener looked up at her, wincing from swiveling his head. He replied with a thin smile then picked up his weapon on the floor by his hip. He switched on the safety, holstered it and took the holster off his belt. "I surrender both my sidearm for an investigation. I'll get it back later. For now, we stay right here until emergency responders arrive."

"Good, you look like you need a hospital, Phil."

The agent smirked at her using his first name. "Yeah. Soon. I need to stay here until someone from the Seattle field office shows up. You two will go with them and tell them everything ... except what you two are. Do not talk about that to anyone. It's compartmentalized as eyes-only, need to know."

"Okay," Aimee said in a soothing tone. "We get it, it's classified. Just calm down. You're getting all excited again."

Michener glanced at Rama and said, "You'll call your folks from the field office. You can call them now from your phone if you want, and let them know that you're okay and let them know where you'll be. Do you have a car here?"

"No, mom has the family car today. I, uh, I'll call her." He turned to Aimee and said, "You stay here with him. I can already hear sirens. I'll call mom real fast and let her know I'll be at the FBI office or whatever."

"Go ahead, Rama."

He stepped outside, ducking through the broken glass doors, and dialed his mom.

A moment later, Úlfey picked up on her end.

"Hey mom. Look, are you sitting down?"

"I'm in the bathtub, Rama. Is it important?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm okay and all but, listen - Aimee and I just got attacked at the diner. These guys in black uniforms, covered in guns and armor. They shot a cop, trying to get away. I'm okay. Aimee is okay, but the cop they shot was an FBI guy. We're going to be taken downtown or wherever their office is. They need us to give them all the details we know. I won't be home right away."

He heard splashing over the background. "Oh my God, Rama. Where are you? I'll be right there."

"No, wait, mom. Don't come here. These guys apparently know about our kind. Either lock the doors and take cover, or get out of the house and check into a hotel. Pay cash. I don't know how those guys found us but I'm afraid they'll come after you while I'm at the FBI office."

"Rama, your father died trying to fight those people. He apparently found out where they operate, he went there with friends, and most of them never made it out of there. I do not want you trying to go after those men. Whatever you do, I do not want you to die. You're supposed to be important. YiaYia told me you're going to help repopulate our kind. She said you'd lead a pack one day. You have to stay alive. Do _not_go after those men."

"Of course not. I can't watch after you and Aimee if I go off on some crazy chase."

"Okay good. Thank God. I can't lose my son."

"Mom, relax. I'm staying here with Aimee until the cops arrive. Then I'm going with the FBI. I'll be protected, okay? Relax. I just need to know you'll be somewhere safe."

"Okay. I will. Keep your phone charged."

Rama looked at the screen briefly then said, "I'm nearly full. I have enough to last the whole weekend."

"I'm glad you're okay. Call me when you're done with the FBI so I can pick you up. Ég elska þig."

"I love you, too. I'll call you later. I'll text you every now and then so you know I'm okay. I've gotta go. I see cops pulling into the lot. I, uh ... I saw a man killed. But, I'm okay. I just ... it was messy and I've never seen that much blood before. Just seeing it made me want to change. That's normal right?"

"Ja, it's normal. Hvernig hefur þú það?"

"I'm fine, mom. I promise. I'm okay. I've got to go. I can hardly hear you over the sirens."

"Takk," she said with a sigh. "Bless."

"You're welcome. I promise I'll call you again shortly. Bye, I love you." He disconnected the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. So much for a nice brunch with his girlfriend. But it didn't matter, as he wasn't hungry anymore. He was too wound up to be hungry. To his palpable relief, the fourth car to pull into the lot, behind the police, was a marked FBI cruiser.

He wasn't sure if it was normal to feel happy that the feds were on the scene. For the first time in the last fifteen minutes, he felt his heart rate calm. He walked back inside and said, "Everyone's here. Ambulances, police, the FBI ... Mister, er, Agent Michener, should we go back to our table and wait?"

"They'll take you both right to the field office. You two won't wait around for more than a minute or two, tops." He looked up at the owner of the diner and said, "Whatever these kids bought I'll pay for it. I know everyone is rattled right now, but can you make two turkey club sandwiches to go for these two?" Phil turned back to Rama and Aimee and said, "It's going to be a long day. Sorry about that. But at least you'll have something to eat for later. Better than whatever you'll get out of a snack machine."

Aimee smiled a bit. "Thanks. We haven't even eaten yet. Not that I could eat right now. I'm nauseous."

"That'll pass. Go back to your table real fast and put something on your stomach real quick. I know you're probably not hungry, but having something on your stomach will help settle it. The sandwiches are for later."

"Who were those men in the black uniforms?" asked Rama. "Are they the men that attacked Aimee's sister?"

Michener sighed. "Yeah."

"I think they're the same assholes that killed my father."

"You're wrong," said Phil. "Your father is Rufus Darken, right?"

Rama stared at Michener with wide eyes but didn't speak.

Phil nodded and gingerly favored his chest. He drew in a labored breath then said, "Rufus apparently escaped. We flagged him using facial recognition less than two weeks ago, and he looks the same as he did twenty-five years ago. Apparently he ages well. This was the first sighting since he was last spotted with the Coast Guard in February of 2024. I shouldn't be telling you this, but our intelligence briefing suggests he might have escaped from Aris Falcon as recent as the day we saw him show up in the system."

"Where is he? Where did you see him?"

"District Coast, in old Washington DC. He looked okay. He wasn't injured. I could get in serious trouble for telling you that, because only four agents in the bureau know about your kind. Don't go asking questions. I'll talk to you about it later. Keep it quiet, okay? Don't tell anyone, not even your mother."

Rama stared at the agent with wide eyes. He nodded in silence and backed away from the agent slowly, nodding one more time. He felt Aimee's hand tugging on his shirtsleeve. "I ... okay," he murmured, mostly to himself.

Having secured the parking lot, police officers began pouring in through the front door. Rama and Aimee went back to their table, waiting for the FBI agent to get briefed on orders and explain what happened.

Rama knew he was in for a long boring night, but at least he'd be spending the day with Aimee. And at least she was okay. He'd only known her for a month and he was already crazy about her. He looked at the lukewarm food, frowned and said, "Try and eat something real fast. It's a glucose thing. I feel weird when I give blood if I haven't eaten first."

"Yeah." She looked at the food with disgust. "I guess." She reached for her fork. "Are you okay, Rama?"

"I don't know. I feel like there's some sort of numbness in my stomach. Is that butterflies?"

"I don't know."

"That man said my father might have escaped. But those people shoot first and ask questions later. Is it possible they actually kept my father alive? God, I want to call mom and tell her but he said not to say anything to anyone."

"You'll tell her soon. Just ... wow, what a way to find out."

"Yeah." Rama rubbed his face and dropped into the booth, staring at his plate. He picked up a fork, as if it were the normal thing to do. His head was swimming.

Aimee shifted her weight in the seat across from him then kicked her boyfriend in the shin. "I'm glad you weren't shot with that stunt you pulled."

"Yeah, me too."

"Don't scare me like that again, please."

He nodded sullenly. "I promise." His thoughts turned back to his father. Without thinking about it, he shoveled food into his mouth, staring off into space.

A moment later, a man approached the table and showed his federal credentials. "Rama, Aimee? I'm Ted Shultz. I work with Phil Michener. He told me you guys saved his life. On behalf of the bureau, I wanted to say thank you, both. I'd like for you two to come with me back to our field office." Shultz held up a brown bag with two plastic containers inside. "I've got your lunch. Come on, we'll take my car and then I'll take you kids home later on, if we think it's safe."

Rama looked up. "Aimee and I will be staying at a hotel tonight with my mom."

"Alright, well, perhaps it would be safer if we had her use a bureau regulated hotel. We have one we occasionally use when protecting witnesses. It would be safer and we know the floor plan."

"I'll text her and let her know to hold off until we tell her which hotel to go to."

Shultz nodded. "Okay great. I'll get you guys set up with a suite so everyone has their own room and door. Come on; let's take the side entrance. You kids don't want to go through the main doors."

Rama looked up. "That man was shot in the head."

Shultz frowned. "I was going to say it's all shattered glass in the entrance. But yes. I'm sorry you saw that. Come with me, you two."

Aimee and Rama stood up. He gestured for her to go first then followed. When they got to the door, he held his hand up. "Let me go first, Aims. Please. Just to make sure it's safe."

Shultz offered a weak smile to Aimee. "He's a gentleman."

"Yeah," she replied softly.

The agent headed straight for his cruiser and opened the back door for them. "I'd like to ask you two not to talk about what you saw in there. Not with your folks, not with the press. At least not until this investigation has been addressed by a spokesman who's trained to deal with the media."

"We won't," said Aimee. "Right Rama?"

"Yeah, of course." He slumped into the bench seat of the cruiser and sighed. All he could think about was the possibility that Rufus Darken was alive. He even suppressed the images of the FBI gunshot victim back in the diner. He wondered what his father was like, lying low and trying to figure things out.

Rama felt a touch on his hand and interlaced his fingers with Aimee's. The young man looked out the window, wondering if he'd actually be able to catch up with his father. Then Rama wondered about the big question ... what if Rufus didn't know he was a father. Rama sighed. He had so many questions.

So damn many questions.

---

Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/691648