RAD HARD – continued

“This is much later in the book, and we see how dirty one of the FBI agents really is while he does some assassination work. He is being black mailed into performing these acts of violence, along with acts of espionage, for his handler. We also get a close look into Michael’s personal life and his psyche, where his emotions run. We continue to see the FBI specialists work the technology side to solve the espionage case. This section also provides some insight into a martial arts studio that is run by a egomaniac.” JC Falenschek

Still, quiet, and empty, he was alone in their condo, Tony knew it had to be this way. Plausible deniability is what they call it in court. Derek couldn’t be any part of this, Tony had kept all his kills away from Derek, so that he had no idea of the methods and details of any of them. Derek didn’t even know where Tony kept the weapon he used. Digging into a laundry bag of clothes that he had bought at a Goodwill store years ago in Rochester, he grabbed a pair of black dress pants and a black button-down shirt. He also took out a pair of black slip-on shoes. After changing he then looked for a pair of blue jeans, a dark brown T-shirt, socks, and athletic shoes, pausing when he found a ball cap, he grabbed that too. Next to this bag in the closet were several backpacks, also bought used, from upscale Mid-West Mountaineering’s used room on the University of Minnesota’s West Bank. The jeans and other clothes went into the pack. The last thing he needed was a mask, something lightweight which could be found everywhere. He had bought a few ‘gators’ from Northern Hydraulics in Rogers. Varied in camouflage colors, greens, oranges, black and grays, gators were worn by construction workers in all fields. A simple tube of cloth, you pulled it over your head and wore it around your neck. When you need it, just pull it up over your face. It kept sun, dirt, and odors out. He chose a black and gray gator knowing that it would make facial analysis impossible. Linking him to his outfit was all but impossible.

The weapon was well hidden in the condo. Carrying a screwdriver as he walked through the hallway, bending down he removed the air-return vent cover. Inside the wall, the duct went to the floor which provided about ten inches of space to the bottom of the vent. He had fabricated a false bottom out of sheet metal which matched the duct work and fit snuggly in place. This created a feeling that the duct work ended there. The false bottom had a recessed edge on the wall side so he could pull it loose. He grabbed the cool smooth metal prying it up. Underneath was a piece of black eggcrate foam on top of another piece of foam. In the bottom piece there were cutouts, which held in place the necessary items. This included his weapon, aa ammo clip, a silencer, and a box of ammo.

His weapon of choice was a Glock 44. It had been acquired from a fence in Atlanta, Georgia, being sold by a Glock representative who had a drug problem and needed the cash. A gunsmith in the Texas panhandle had modified the weapon to accept the silencer. It was an extremely quiet weapon now. Being sub-sonic, and with a silencer, it made barely an audible “FFFFFT” sound and could be heard only with-in fifty feet if at all.

Taking the weapon, silencer, and a full magazine, putting them in a concealed interior pocket of the backpack he wrapped them in rags for silence and was ready to leave. It was just past 1 am. Tony needed transportation, and it needed to be something that would be difficult to trace or find. Having had scouted a few areas within walking distance of the condo the perfect vehicle, Town & Country Chrysler van, had been found. Innocuous, ordinary, and common it would blend into the city well. Donning disposable gloves, he began to work. The van was easily broken into, especially with his metal slip bar, and it started at once when he hotwired it. Carefully, quietly backing out, Tony watched the house for any sign of activity and slowly drove down the street. 1:45 am, on track with his schedule.

Tony drove around the city in a random manner and finally arrived at his destination. The area had changed its name a few years earlier, but he knew it as Calhoun Square. Pulling into the parking ramp and driving up to the top level, he parked near the stairs. This ramp was without security cameras, but there wasn’t any reason to take chances. Tony pulled the gator over his face, grabbed the backpack, and opened the door sliding out. A quick walk down the stairs to the second level; he set up behind one of the columns. Pulling his weapon from the backpack, assembling it with the silencer, the magazine was popped in and he was ready. Closing the bag, he began to wait, 2:15 am, again he was on schedule.

Tony had a lot of experience waiting for things, doing surveillance for the FBI, and setting up other assassinations, he could wait patiently for hours. Knowing this, Tony was somewhat disconcerted as he realized he was anxious, even nervous, about this kill. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been provided a clear motive, or the fact he had been told that this was his last kill, even though he knew it wouldn’t be.

The expensive black GMC SUV rolled up exactly on time, stopping at the end of the lot, as he been told, Ritchie killed the engine. Briefly looking around, he opened the door, grabbed a NFL sports bag, and started across the concrete towards the stairs. Tony stepped from the shadows and told Ritchie to stop. Tony was reassured by the weight, however slight, in the small of his back. Approaching Ritchie slowly, immediately getting down to business.

“Do you have the money?”

Ritchie nodded and replied.

“I want the name first,” trying to sound tough, his voice had a slight shake to it.

Tony had expected this, futile as it was.

“Show me the money then you get the name.”

Tony had moved easily to within fifteen feet of Ritchie. Dropping the bag on the ground in front of him, bending and unzipping it, he quickly stood up.

Ritchie was surprised to see a weapon pointed at him. Starting to speak, he never got there as a bullet drove into his heart, causing severe pain. “What the hell” was his last thought as another bullet entered his skull, bouncing around, dropping him silently onto the ground. Tony moved forward, picked up the bag of money, and headed back to the column. Picking up his pack, repacking the weapon carefully, and grabbing the money he headed down the stairs and made his way out, walking quickly.

Across the street the retail shops were dark, foreboding shadows falling at severe angles across the sidewalk, Tony made his way along the edge of the buildings until he reached a small alley. Moving quickly along, stopping at a dumpster, kneeling by a rear corner where Tony knew he would be invisible to any passersby. Quickly changing into jeans and the other clothes he had packed; Tony then threw the clothes he had worn into the dumpster. Pulling the gator over his face Tony left the alley and crossed the street to the south. Days before he had found another target vehicle a few blocks away. It was 3:15 am, still on schedule.

His walk was quick and uneventful.  Repeating the process he had performed on the van; he drove off in an early model Toyota Camry. Ordinary and forgettable, he felt it was perfect for a getaway. He had pulled off the gator, putting it in the backpack. With the ball cap on, pulled low over his eyes, he was just another millennial driving through the streets of Minneapolis. Heading home he made sure to be conservative in his driving. All he had to do now was get rid of his current ride.

•  

Cody had been surveilling Tony Toscani since midnight and was amazed by what he had seen. This agent was dirty in the worst way. If he committed murder, stealing classified information and framing someone for it would be nothing. Cody had recorded the murder but wasn’t sure what to do with it, yet. It was 5:30 am and Toscani had returned home. He imagined that Toscani would take a personal day off because of the late night. He didn’t know it yet, but he was right. It had taken all his experience not to be spotted during his surveillance, but Cody was an exceptionally well-trained former asset of the United States and was up to the task. Even though the agent was extremely good at covering his tracks, taking extreme precautions, Cody was better. Leaving the condo’s parking lot, heading for breakfast, he needed time to think, and pancakes would help with that.

Stopping at the Maple Grove Perkins, it was early which meant there wasn’t going to be a wait to be seated. Staring out the window, checking the flow of traffic and the customers that were arriving was a habit developed over a long period of paranoia. He started to re-live the evening’s events in his mind. The agent was good, he obviously had done this before. Cody needed to have a quiet conversation with Trisha. He also wanted to talk with his contacts at the St. Paul and Minneapolis police departments. He had an idea and wanted to pull the thread on it to see where it went.

•  

Michael awoke to his alarm at the usual time, 6 am, not really knowing what to do next. He had a routine to get ready for work. A short run, shower, a light breakfast drink, and dress for the day. He was usually out the door by 7:15 am on his way to work. But not today. He didn’t have any idea what to do, he just wanted to stay in bed and isolate himself. He had a secret that he had been keeping for years. Michael was bi-polar with severe depression. Medications and his current lifestyle of exercise and self-care had served him well. He never talked about it with anyone other than his psychiatrist and psychologist. His sickness was well hidden. Today none of his usual tools worked to put the depression in its place. He could barely move, thinking of his usual routine he was submerged in hopelessness. Ruminating on all the things in his life he was ashamed of, or felt guilty about, he knew it but nonetheless it festered and grew.

With great effort he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take his morning meds. Moving slowly, he began to get cleaned up. No run today though, there was just no motivation. The shower helped but didn’t completely get him out of his funk. Finishing that morning routine, Michael headed into the kitchen. The thought of food didn’t thrill him, so he just had some juice. Walking into the living room he turned on the TV he was so proud of. Realizing this, he sunk back into his funk thinking how materialistic he must be. Materialistic and self-centered, that was how he felt about himself. Feelings of worthlessness washed over him.

Watching the morning news began to distract him. National issues, local events, weather, and sports. There were the usual crimes reported from the Cities. St. Paul had a gang shooting with three dead and four injured. Minneapolis had one dead from an apparent drug deal gone bad. The victim had been shot in the head and chest. The newscaster mentioned there were similar murders over the past few years. The station would do an in-depth story about this on their 10 o’clock news show. Michael wasn’t interested in the least. The more the news was about crime the more depressed he became. He was spiraling down to a very dark place; not even sure he could remain safe.

Shutting off the TV, he sat for several minutes staring at the black screen. Shaking off the need to isolate, Michael grabbed some ear buds and his phone. He brought up a guided meditation, sat back and closed his eyes while the narrator spoke softly with the sounds of crashing waves in the background. This calmed his mind and eased the tension in his body. He was still in that dark place, feeling worthless, but now had the desire to overcome it. The time had passed unnoticed; it was already 9 am.

He thought about it and realized that he could make a morning class at the studio. Michael knew that exercise was a great way to deal with his depression and he loved martial arts. Forcing himself to move, Michael put his uniform and gear in his bag and headed for the door.

•  

Kayla was early today, both to avoid the unusual run of 90 plus degree heat and because she was excited to get back on the emails. First, she gave Dimitry a call and advised him that INTERPOL should watch Ivan Mishkin, always knowing his whereabouts. She had been able to tie Mishkin to espionage originating in the U.S. and was sure that a specific portion of the case would be wrapped up in a week or so. Then INTERPOL could roll him up.

Back to the emails which had piqued her interest. She had decided on a course of action and was ready to get to work. Picking up the phone she dialed an extension she knew by heart.

“Technology” was all the woman at the other end of the line said.

“Isabella, this is Kayla. Do you have a minute?”

“For you I have all day. What can I do for you my lovely friend?”

Kayla began with the background of the case and the recent developments.

“What I need now is the origination of the email. Who it belongs to, and anything else you can tell me about it.”

“This shouldn’t be too difficult, but the more emails I have, the better. Are you able to get very many?”

Immediately sending quite a few over she asked the pertinent question.

“How long do you think it will take to get any kind of useful information?” Kayla finished.

Isabella assured her that there might be something by the end of the day. The Technology section of the FBI was unbelievable, much more sophisticated than most people knew, or how they were portrayed in the movies. Kayla wasn’t surprised by the expected turnaround.

Getting back to work decrypting them, her secured internet account activated, she went straight to the SmartWriter website. After a short bit of exploration, she signed up for the application. It was a simple process, registering for the account, downloading the application, paying an annual fee, and loading in the keycode obtained in her email after the payment had been verified.

Figuring out how to use the program was a snap like Max had said it would be. Hours later Kayla was left with a bunch of disjointed information and a mystery that involved at least five people. There were all the indications that assassinations were the subject of a few of the exchanges. Whoever was using the program to pass information had too much faith that it wouldn’t be cracked, they had sent names and job titles back and forth. She noted the names for later investigation. She also took notice of the job titles, a couple of them had to do with foreign dignitaries, or in the very least were representatives of companies from other countries. Recipients back and forth were never mentioned. Some of the kill orders referred to a third party to carry them out. Hopefully going to the sender/receiver locations or owners would point to a killer.

A lot of information that was passed obviously came out of a semi-conductor facility and that could only mean The Center. She would need to cross-reference this information with the material to be sure. Kayla was startled as her phone rang, normal as usual but it seemed with more urgency than usual. She knew this was because she had been startled, nonetheless the ring seemed unusual. It was Isabella at the other end, and she was talking in a very subdued tone.

“Kayla, we have a problem and it’s big. I think we should meet in one of the secure conference rooms, so we aren’t overheard. Bring everything you have in the emails, and I’ll bring what I’ve got. We should meet sooner the better and you should consider locking up your other files while you are away from your desk.”

Kayla was more than startled this time. What could Isabella have found and why the secrecy.

“Let me check my schedule and see if I can find a room available at a good time.”

There was a pause while she looked at the conference room schedules. Not all rooms were secure, so the availability was tight.

“There’s a room available in fifteen minutes, can you make that?”

Isabella was very anxious to get this done and agreed to the time and place.

“See you shortly.” Kayla finished.

Approaching the conference room, Kayla saw that Isabella was already in there. She had a red folder in front of her. Kayla knew this meant that whatever Isabella had found was now Top Secret, for only a small number of eyes. This was going to get extremely strange, she thought as she swiped her ID card and opened the door.

Kayla walked across the room and gave the diminutive Isabella a big hug. Sitting, Isabella started right into the business of the meeting.

“As you suspected there are quite a few recipients and senders, there are a lot of locations and owners to look at. For instance, there is Alexi Garin at what he refers to as the Center. He is the hub of much of the activity, supplying information from the Center to others in the chain. Most of what he sends goes to an Eric Dunn, his computer resides in a condominium complex in Minnetonka. He seems to be a handler at least one step up the chain in terms of authority. He sends orders back to Alexi while passing information, not just the information from the Center to Russia.”

“This handler has ordered at least four assassinations through Alexi. I don’t think Alexi is responsible for any of the murders though. He contacts someone else, and they do the actual killing.”

There was a long silence as Isabella seemed to collect herself.

Kayla waited a moment before speaking.

“Have you been able to identify who is carrying out the orders to murder these people?”

“That’s why we’re meeting here.” Isabella replied. “I have narrowed it down to two people. These two people have both received orders to kill, and from their return messages it would appear, that they had been successful in each instance.”

Again, Isabella collected herself.

“The messages from Alexi came to this building.”

She let that sink in for a minute.

“There are two agents in the FBI that have been receiving these assassination orders and have apparently been carrying them out.”

She squirmed into her chair looking down at her notes.

Trying to settle Isabella down, Kayla reacted calmly, “It’s ok Isabella, but I need to know the names of the two agents.”

Finally, Isabella went on.

“I will have to work on that, our systems are hard to subvert, all the levels of encryption and rerouting of signals within the building make it almost impossible. I will have to be very careful not to raise any red flags, especially if it might tip-off whomever we’re looking for.”

It was Kayla’s turn to be quiet while trying to wrap her head around what she had just been told. The two agents that were assigned to the espionage case were part of the espionage chain. She quickly analyzed her options going forward and responded to Isabella’s query.

“This needs to remain between us for now. Finish your analysis, make a case, an airtight case. Find the agents and this handler, I want names. No one should know that you’ve been doing this work. I want you to do two things. Prepare a formal report on your findings and get that to me. Look at anyone and everyone, check out emails for clues. If you get a mountain of messages to look through, send me a batch and I’ll go through them. I have a feeling that time is of the essence, and this needs our full attention. Try to act normal around everyone, we don’t know if anyone else here is involved.”

Isabella nodded, gathered her papers, and left Kayla to ponder the future.

•  

Major Brigg was upset, to say she was upset was to say the northern wildfires were just campfires, she was extremely mad. Not only had she lost the lead engineer, but he was accused of espionage. On top of that, development had stalled, and no new progress had been made since Michael had been escorted out of the building. Meetings with Will and Dante had proved almost useless, the only substantial progress was the cleanroom labs. The cleanrooms dedicated to the project had been finished and certified with processing equipment being installed. This had been the major responsibility of Daunte; he at least was as productive as she thought he would be.

The Major was also waiting on the FBI agents to update her on the extent of the breach. If they had found the information expected, it would be possible to trace it back to the source because of the security protocols that were in place. Michael’s initial report on all of the thumb drives had been modified with a different mistake written in each one. This allowed them to identify the original drive and its assigned ownership if any information came out. But the agents had not gotten back to her, in fact they had disappeared once they had removed Michael. No one had heard from them, and they hadn’t been back in the facility.

She decided to contact SSEDC’s Senior Director, Robert Simms, to see if he could bring pressure to bear on the Design department and its engineers. He too had been watching the project closely and was expecting results before now. The two had weekly status meetings for communications of concerns, expectations, and foreseeable delays. They were scheduled for tomorrow, but Major Brigg decided to see if they could get together today. Contacting Director Simms’ administrative assistant, Major Brigg told the lady about her needs and the immediacy of the issues needing to be covered.

“I think I can move a couple meetings around and reschedule them for tomorrow. Let me ask the Director for his approval and I’ll get back to you.”

Major Brigg was more than satisfied with that. Shortly, her phone rang, it Simms’ assistant, and you could hear the smile in her voice, Major Brigg could meet with the Director at 3pm.

•  

He sat with his head in his hands. The room was cold, with a tiled floor that sucked the heat out of the air. He didn’t notice how hard the wooden bench was as he was wrapped in his thoughts. Harsh fluorescent lights keep the room extra bright but uncomfortable. Michael was as depressed as he had ever been, his thoughts kept returning to the unfair accusations and what had happened to his life. He hated the locker room; it didn’t provide an atmosphere where you could sit and think or talk with others. It was designed to get people in and out of the room quickly, yet Michael had been here for at least a half hour now.

The door opened and Michael, head still in his hands, looked up to see his friend Andre enter carrying a workout bag. Startled to see Michael, especially like this, he stopped, looking at Michael wondering if he should ask about the situation.

“Mikey, what’s going on? Why are you just sitting there in your street clothes? Class starts in ten minutes.”

Michael looked at the floor, nodding, but stayed silent as Andre started to change for class. Michael stood and began to unpack his uniform, finally, he broke the silence.

“Andre, I don’t know what I’m going to do. This thing with the missing thumb drive is killing me. I know that Trish is looking into it but as each day passes, I get more and more worried. What if we can’t find it? What if we can’t prove the FBI guy took it? My reputation is already ruined, I’m sure I won’t ever get my security clearance back and my research opportunities will be gone. I’m screwed.”

“Look,” Andre answered, “you have a lot of good people working to help you, people that believe in you and won’t let this get worse. Believe me when I say that Trish is making some progress, but you need to hang in there, a little patience is needed right now.”

Michael wasn’t reassured but nodded and started to change; they got into the classroom just as the other students were lining up for the start of class. Sensei Miller was greeting each student with a smile and a question about how things were going. Michael and Andre were the last to line up, as Sensei approached, he greeted Andre and then turned to Michael. With concern in his voice, he stopped in front of Michael and lowered his tone.

“Michael, you look like you’ve lost your best friend and then got hit by a truck. Are you sure you are up for class today? We are pretesting for the major graduation, pretesting that you don’t really need.”

Turning red from embarrassment, Michael averted his eyes and answered quietly.

“Yes Sensei, I’ll make it through. I think I need this right now.”

Shrugging Sensei Miller called everyone to ‘attention,’ then told the group to bow. He asked the highest-ranking student to come forward and warm up the class after he had split the group up into rows. As they started jumping-jacks, he excused himself and went into the office. He wanted advice from Sensei Dunn on what to do with Michael.

“Sir,” he began, “I think I have a problem with one of the students.”

He continued to tell Sensei Dunn about Michael and his concerns.

“Do you think I should just tell him to go home?”

Dunn had perked up at the mention of Michael. Already in a foul mood because of what happened to Rachel, also things with the thumb drive were taking too long. He thought about the fact that the FBI agents hadn’t turned it over yet and how it seemed that it was being withheld on purpose.

“I’ll teach the class, you make these extension calls, offer a special of some kind to get them in here. I don’t care what it is just make it as appealing as possible.”

Sensei Miller was somewhat taken aback by this, as the owner of the school Dunn wanted complete control over the contracts for extending a student’s program. Not to even care about what the special was is so out of character he wondered if his Sensei was in trouble.

Dunn entered the classroom with purpose in his stride, looking left and right, he saw the students lined up on the wall hanging on to the stretching rails. The highest-ranking student was leading the group in what were called wall kicks, doing kicks slow with as perfect a technique as possible. This built strength but more importantly muscle memory which would help in all aspects of their training, especially when sparring or in life-saving self-defense. Sensei Dunn watched Michael closely, his mind red with rage, he was ready to punish Michael, but why he wasn’t sure. Dunn took over, barking orders with short, clipped instructions.

“Everyone stop, all Black Belt candidates step away from the wall to the middle of the room, Knowles, this means you.”

Michael looked around, no one else moved to join him, he realized he was the only candidate in class.

“Yes Sensei,” he quietly responded.

Dunn looked at Michael critically and started in on him, disgust, and menace in his voice he continued.

“Alright, let’s just see whether you’re ready. Everyone up and pivot,” he commanded, “out, back, and down.”

It was sidekicks again, and he was going to push everyone and Michael even more. After fifteen repetitions he changed things up, giving Michael just seconds to rest.

“Everyone relax, Michael, you aren’t done yet, stay where you are.”

Dunn walked over to Michael and in a quiet voice growled.

“You’re incompetent and look like shit, you better get it together if you expect to test.”

Stepping back, he started in again, this time in his ‘Karate’ voice, loud and commanding.

“Up, out, back, and down.”

After another ten reps Dunn changed it up once more.

“Up, out, hold it,” and after several seconds, “back, and down.”

Without a second in between Dunn repeated it again, over and over.

Michael was tired after the first group of kicks but refused to give up. Dunn had him switch from right to left frequently, which seemed to help but none the less his muscles were starting to give out. Breathing heavily, Michael continued but was starting to drop his legs after just a second or two in the hold position, his muscles burned, and he was physically unable to complete the technique. Soon he had trouble just picking his foot off the floor. It felt like an eternity, he wasn’t keeping count, but Dunn was, up to one hundred kicks, on each side, in the count. Finally, Michael’s muscles gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Dunn moved in closely, standing over him.

“How the hell do you expect to pass the exam if you can’t even do a few slow kicks without falling apart? Is quitting your answer to everything?”

Turning to the quiet class.

“Everyone find a spot in the room,” he boomed, louder than ever. Dunn turned to Michael, “get in line,”

as Michael was getting up and hurrying to his place among the others. Everyone stood at attention waiting for what they were sure would be a long and arduous session. Dunn continued with instructions, having the students do combinations for additional warm-up. Michael was feeling better physically, but mentally he was beaten down, and tried to keep telling himself not to give up. Finally, Dunn paired people up for self-defense drills.

“Booker, you and Knowles work together.”

Sensei Dunn paired them together, which wasn’t unusual at all, but instead of having the two get their protective gear on he continued.

“Bare hands and feet for you two. I want to see realistic speed, power, and of course control.”

Dunn smiled without a hint of humor in his voice.

Dunn started the group going through the required curriculum from white belt on up, he watched over the group from the front of the room, like the commander of a small army he yelled out his orders but kept his eyes mainly on Booker and Knowles. After the entire class finished all self-defense from white to black, he told everyone to stop and have a seat against the wall.

“Booker and Knowles, you stay out, I need to assess Knowles.”

Dunn motioned the two to the middle of the room and began giving his instructions. “I want to see one-step number one at red belt, we’ll move up from there, including your made-up ones. Full speed with three-quarter power, bare hands and feet, Booker you’re attacking, and you better make it real. Knowles you should try to not get beaten up.”

Andre and Michael bowed to each other, Andre assuming a fighting stance. Michael slid his right foot back and turned his body at a slight angle leaving his hands by his side, he looked to be in an everyday relaxed position but kept his eyes on Andre. Andre attacked, throwing a straight right punch to Robert’s head. A little startled Michael nonetheless reacted quickly, deflecting the punch and countering with a body kick that took Andre’s air. He had thrown the kick with power but hadn’t meant to hurt Andre. Concerned, he looked at Andre.

“Oh man, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, sorry. Are you OK?”

Andre had stood up holding his hands above his head trying to catch his breath. In a somewhat squeaky voice, he replied in short breaths.

“No problem, I need a little core work it seems. Pretty good, but you were just a half second slow reacting, I almost hit you.”

Michael nodded; he was a little surprised that Andre had noticed that. Dunn was taken aback, not expecting Knowles to be that quick, or that accurate. Andre had a reputation for being the fastest fighter in the school. Dunn thought about it and was determined not to underestimate Knowles again. He responded with one simple command.

“Next one.”

The two friends spent the rest of the time getting bruised and sore from arm, hand, and leg contact to various parts of the body while the rest of the class sat silently. Occasionally Dunn would interject with harsh criticism and commands as he became more agitated with Michael’s excellent performance.

Eventually the class ended, was bowed out with the students either leaving or staying to work out on their own. The two friends quietly headed to the locker room, both wondering what had gotten into their Sensei and why he had seemed vindictive. Andre entered after Robert but was the first to speak.

“What the hell was that, has Dunn got a screw loose? I’ve got bruises up and down my arms and legs from your blocks, and I think maybe a couple of bruised ribs from your kicks. I appreciate you not going full power, especially on my face. You know, I still am better looking than you.”

He smiled but only have heartedly.

“I really am sorry, sometimes I just reacted without thinking and had to catch myself from hitting as hard as possible. I don’t understand it either, Dunn always preaches about safety in the classroom; he sure was in a tirade today. Man, I which I knew what I had done wrong.”

Dunn had gone back to his office sending Miller back to the classroom. He was determined to undermine Knowles but instead decided that Knowles needed to go. He knew what to do and started the process of getting in touch with his very special FBI agents.

H