Page 58 of Fearless
Whitman moves back another step. “If you want your daughter to live, you are going to let me walk out of here, Robert. I don’t understand why you can’t see the big picture. I want a country that’s protected by the best—by us!”
I slowly creep forward. “The FBI’s motto is Fidelity, Bravery, and Integrity. When did you lose sight of that, Whitman? What was your breaking point?”
“I didn’t break!” he shouts, pressing the gun harder into the side of Harper’s head. She winces in pain, but all that comes out is a grunt since she still has the duct tape on her mouth. “The Bureau is my life! It always has been! I want the agency to stop being the villain in so many movies and books. I want the agency to be recognized for all those who serve diligently, giving up a normal life so that the American people can live in peace. I want the agency to be known for its greatness!”
“Do you consider yourself a righteous man, Whitman? Are you a religious man?” I ask, holding my weapon at eye level.
“I’d like to think so,” he replies. The gun he has to Harper’s head is pulled back a fraction of an inch.
“Matthew 23:27-28 states, ‘Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside, but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and every kind of impurity. In the same way, on the outside you appear to be righteous, but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.’
“Whitman, I know that you believe your actions are justified and that sacrifice is necessary for the greater good. You want to project an image that the FBI is free from blemish and any wrongdoing. But fake greatness is just that. It’s fake, and the truth is always revealed in time,” I tell him. “If you want to achieve greatness, then it starts from within.”
Robert clears his throat. “Marshall, a false flag incident is not the way the FBI operates. If we mess up, we accept responsibility for our actions, make the necessary changes, and move forward. If it results in a black eye for the agency, then we probably deserved it. But those wounds heal over time. Do the right thing.”
Whitman removes the gun from Harper’s temple and places it on his own. “No!” I shout, and everything that happens next feels like it happens in slow motion.
Harper drops and pivots her body simultaneously, sweeping her legs across the back of Whitman’s knees. His legs buckle underneath him, and he falls to the ground, smacking his head on the hard-packed dirt that makes up the floor.
Whitman manages to keep hold of his weapon and rolls out of the way. He aims his gun at Harper and glares at her with hate and contempt. Right as he’s about to pull the trigger, I fire my weapon, sending a simunition round into Whitman’s leg. At the same time, Harper ducks down and tases him with the ring on her finger.
Four other shots are fired, and a searing heat pierces my thigh. I go down hard, nailing my shoulder into the ground. I hear Harper’s scream and see my Angel run toward me as two other bodies drop behind me.
Blackness creeps around the edge of my vision, and justbefore my world goes dark, I hear someone yell, “Roger’s been hit! It’s an artery!”
I hear the sweetest voice pull me from the depths of darkness. “Roger, stay with me!”
Blackness.
“I love you! Fight, dang it!” my Angel pleads. A sob is followed by, “Please don’t leave me!”
Again, night falls.
The next time I come to, I hear a deep and familiar voice say, “Sweetheart, give him some space.”
I glance at my Angel and croak out, “She’s my Sweetheart, not yours. Give her back.”
“He’s coming around!” another woman says, her voice making me want to swat at her like a pesky fly. It’s got a smokey quality to it, but it’s definitely feminine. An image of a short pixie with dark hair cut in a bob floods my mind.Jessie. “And he’s doped up on oxycodone! This is going to besooogood! Ladies and gents, get out your phones and start recording!”
“Are you thinking the same thing I am, Jessie?” a masculine voice asks. I crack open my eyes a bit further to see a man with a mop of shoulder-length curly hair.Carter.
“Wall of Shame!” they shout in unison.
Harper leans over me, smiling a wide smile. “I thought I lost you there for a minute,” she says, looking tired. There’s a red patch staining her lips that extends from cheek to cheek.
“You look like the Joker,” I tell her, giving her a goofy grin.
She touches the redness and sighs. “That’s what happens when you wear duct tape as lipstick. Easy to put on, not so much to get off.”
“You don’t need that lip gunk. Your mouth tastes like raspberries. I like raspberries,” I say dreamily.
“Please tell me you’re getting this,” Ethan says as he walks up.
“Oh, we’re getting this all right,” Jessie titters.
“Would you two leave him alone?” Harper scolds. “He’s been shot!”
“It’s but merely a flesh wound,” I say, waving my hand around flippantly. When my hand comes into my line of vision, I stare at it in awe. “Ooh, a butterfly!”
