Vengeance

70 WOODMORE, MARYLAND

In the vicinity of the rental property on Enterprise Road, there was no indication of law enforcement presence. The roadblocks at the intersections of Lottsford Road and Central Avenue had been cleared, all vehicles had been removed from Mixell’s rental property, and Harrison and Khalila, plus eight FBI agents, were hidden on the farmhouse grounds.

Harrison lay on his stomach behind a fallen tree that had been swallowed by the underbrush, having cleared a small hole in the foliage to provide a clear view of the gravel driveway. On the other side of the driveway, Khalila knelt at the edge of a backyard patio, hidden behind a worn wooden partition with several small gaps offering a view of the other side of the van once it arrived.

Singleton had provided Harrison with a rifle to improve the accuracy of his shot, should he take it once Mixell arrived. The rifle hadn’t been sighted in to adjust for rifle and shooter bias, but Harrison figured it wouldn’t matter. The driveway was only thirty feet away.

Unfortunately, Singleton had made it clear that Mixell would be arrested; this wasn’t a CIA operation with the authority to kill an enemy combatant. Mixell would be killed only if Christine’s life, or those of law enforcement personnel, were threatened. The FBI would take the lead in Mixell’s arrest and Christine’s rescue, with Harrison and Khalila providing backup if anything went wrong.

Time passed slowly while they waited for Mixell’s arrival. Harrison monitored the drone surveillance video, showing the van entering the outskirts of Woodmore. After it turned onto Enterprise Road, Harrison turned the video off and focused on the end of the driveway where it met the street.

A moment later, a white van with the Gordon’s Wholesale logo emblazoned on the side turned into the driveway and approached the house. Mixell was driving, and there was still no sign of Christine.

The van coasted to a halt, and Mixell opened the door and stepped onto the gravel driveway, then walked toward the house. When he reached the front door, four FBI agents swarmed from around both sides of the house with weapons drawn, converging on him.

Mixell turned around with a shocked expression and raised his hands in the air. As he was being forced to the ground by the FBI agents, Harrison emerged from the tree line and moved swiftly toward the van, opening its passenger side door. The interior of the vehicle was empty — there was no sign of Christine.

He headed toward Mixell as the FBI agents finished their search, verifying Mixell had no weapons or explosives strapped to his body. Mixell had been babbling the whole time, asking why he was being arrested. When the agents pulled him to his knees, Harrison suddenly stopped.

This wasn’t Mixell.

The man had a remarkable resemblance to Harrison’s former best friend, but it definitely wasn’t Lonnie Mixell.

Harrison joined Khalila and the FBI agents gathered around the man, stopping beside Singleton. “This isn’t Mixell,” he informed him.

“What’s your name?” Harrison asked the man.

The man, trembling in fear, replied, “Robert Keeshan.”

Keeshan went on to explain that he was a model and was here because he had been hired for a body-double gig. No details had been provided other than there was a work party at this address, and that he was supposed to drive this van here and knock on the door. At the party, he was supposed to remain aloof and minimize the engagement. He was impersonating a new hire at the company and no one should realize that a body double had taken his place.

Harrison glanced at the Gordon’s Wholesale van.

“Where did you get the van?”

“I did a vehicle swap in the I-395 tunnel in D.C.”

“We’re looking for the man you’re impersonating, Do you know what car he left the tunnel in?”

Keeshan nodded. “He left in mine. A blue Ford Taurus.”

“What’s the license plate number?”

“I don’t have it memorized.”

Singleton turned to Harrison. “We’ll look it up. It won’t take long.”

“Was there a woman with the man you swapped vehicles with?” Harrison asked.

Keeshan nodded. “She left in the car with the man.”

Khalila joined the conversation. “Didn’t you think there was something strange about having to swap vehicles in the 395 tunnel?”

“I… I didn’t ask questions. I need the money. Why he wanted to be impersonated is none of my business. I figured the guy was having an affair. He was with an attractive woman, and they were clearly an item — he had his arm around her waist. She seemed nervous, as if they were sneaking off for a tryst while I covered for him at this party.”

“We’ve got the license plate number,” Singleton announced. “It won’t be long before we find the vehicle.”