Page 3 of Operation: Valiant Angel

“That work would be assigned to the Digital Team,” Garcia said.

Wilson stopped asking questions and just gazed out of the window as the monotonous scenery of snow-covered fields passed by. The more Garcia said, the less he understood. What he did understand was that Shepherd had to make adjustmentsin the type of cases the agency took on to keep the skilled assets who worked for the agency. Many wanted the necessary travel to do the job cut in half, so they were away from home less. More than half the men on the teams were married, including Garcia. And many had children or were planning to very soon. It was still unfathomable to Wilson that Garcia was married and had a son.

Garcia let the silence in the car hang for a few minutes. “What cases do you want to be assigned to?”

“Whatever Shepherd needs me to do,” Wilson answered.

The truth was, Wilson really didn’t care one way or the other what type of work he was assigned to. He had often said that it all pays the same, but in reality, he had gotten to the point where quiet was better. He’d been assigned over the past few years, mostly to the Power Grid Protection Project. It was a lucrative contract the agency had with the Department of Homeland Security, installing proprietary hardware and software on power producing installations to stop and trace hacking attempts.

He was pulled regularly to work a DEA Partner Mission; another contract Shepherd had signed with the DEA to help identify and apprehend drug distributors and major dealers. He was good at it, and he kept his hair long, which helped him blend in well with the people who lived in the sketchier neighborhoods of target cities. And of course, all members of the team were tapped on when the DoD hired Shepherd for foreign missions they couldn’t touch with the U.S.’s official military assets.

Wilson noticed that Garcia was waiting for more from him. “Look, some of the guys crave the excitement of the traditional cases, or the DEA Missions. I’m still good with them, but I also get why the PGP Project is necessary. It’s not glamorous, but it’sas important as any other mission, and I know it helps pay the agency’s bills.”

“And no one’s shooting at you while you’re turning a screwdriver,” Garcia added with a chuckle.

“Let’s just say it’s a nice break from the steady diet of the DEA Missions I was assigned to for a while. But even those cases are necessary, and we can accomplish a lot that the DEA can’t.”

“Yes,” Garcia agreed. “This is just an awkward time of growing pains and re-alignments in the agency, and I know a lot of the team members are wondering what Bravo Team’s return means for them.”

“Well, I’m not one of them. I’m not sure if any of Charlie Team’s members are. The four of us have the PGP installs down to a science.”

“It had to feel like your team was out in the cold,” Garcia said.

“I’m the one that told Shepherd that we needed to remain on it for continuity. It wasn’t the type of thing that would get done quickly with rotating different teams on and off of it,” Wilson said. “It’s an important project. But I’m just not sure if Shepherd Security is the team that should be doing it versus another government team of engineers.”

“It’s proprietary software and hardware,” Garcia said. “And Shepherd Security is making a boatload of money from it.”

Wilson raised his hands into the air in a surrendering gesture. “I know. Shepherd has to worry about his balance sheet. The aircraft, the weapons, the ammo. Everything cost money. Hello, I have no complaints about my salary or other benefits. And if staffing the PGP project helps pay for all that, I have no problem with it. It’s just that I think it should be assigned to engineers.”

“Which was the purpose of recruiting Echo Team,” Garcia said.

“And they finally have a rhythm going. Charlie Team can step away now if Shepherd needs us to.” Wilson fixed his gaze again out the side window. The scenery hadn’t changed. It was snowy corn field after cornfield with an occasional stand of trees.

As the car, traveling at seventy miles per hour, approached an off ramp, the highway was on an overpass over a little dirt country road. Through his window, Wilson saw a woman with neon orange shoes on that dirt road running from a man, who caught her and punched her. He turned in his seat in time to see the woman hit the ground. “Get off at this exit!” Wilson said. “There’s a woman being assaulted back there.”

Garcia took the exit. “Find me a way to get to that road.”

Wilson already had the maps program open on his phone, doing just that. He gave Garcia directions to navigate to it as Garcia called their detour into their Operations Center. Six minutes later, Garcia pulled up to the exact spot where Wilson had seen the woman be assaulted. Both men quickly got out of the vehicle and stood in the middle of the vacant road. Wilson ran over to the exact spot where he’d seen it go down. There were what he guessed to be blood droplets moistening the dirt. The air was unseasonably warm for January in Iowa, thirty-five degrees.

“I’ve got blood over here,” Garcia called. He stood near the frame of the underpass.

Wilson rushed over. There was a smear of blood on the rusted metal beam pointing towards the trees that lined the side of the road beside the underpass. “If a car was under here, I wouldn’t have seen it from the highway.” He knew if a car had been there, the woman was long gone.

Hoping that wasn’t the case, his gaze followed the blood smear. Just within the tree line, tangled in the snowy underbrush, something bright orange caught his eye. He sprinted over andretrieved it from the ground. It was a woman’s gym shoe. He held it up to Garcia in his left hand and drew his weapon with his right.

Wilson entered the tree line. Garcia jogged to catch up with him. Roughly twenty yards in, the ground sloped downward. At the bottom of what was maybe a ten-foot gorge, they saw what they’d come to stop. The woman Wilson had seen from the interstate, wearing one bright orange shoe, lay motionless on the ground. She was straddled by a man whose hands gripped her neck.

“Hey!” Wilson yelled, getting the man’s attention. His arm was outstretched, pointing his weapon at the man.

“Hands in the air!” Garcia immediately added; his weapon also aimed at the man.

“We won’t miss you at this range!” Wilson called. “Let go of her now or I shoot!”

Though the man didn’t raise his hands, it appeared he was no longer gripping her neck as firmly. He had a moment of what looked like indecision to Wilson and Garcia and then he bolted upright and took off running.

“Fuck!” both men cursed, charging forward from their location. Wilson took off running after him, as he knew he was faster than Garcia was. Garcia hurried to the woman, hoping they weren’t too late.

The hillside was slick. Wilson slid as much as he ran down it. Even so, he was still able to catch up with the fleeing man as he reached the top of the rise on the other side of the little gorge. Once he was within arm’s reach, Wilson grabbed him by his hoodie and pulled him back and off his feet. He crashed to the ground and rolled a few feet back down the hill.

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