Monday, October 22, 2018

The Takedown

Furious Fiction: Must take place in an Airport; must have Spring and “it was empty” somewhere in it
Due 9/3/18

The Takedown

"Boss, we've tracked Sinclair to the men’s room in the Sky Lounge. We can spring the trap on him now and catch him with his pants down."
 
The radio crackled a moment before the response came. “Alright, Morris. Do it. Nail the bastard."
 
Morris was part of the task force team that had been following Sinclair's trail for months. When they got wind that the cartel leader of a large human trafficing ring was planning to return to the states, they had stepped up the investigation. Current intel had led them to the Tampa airport this morning, just before Airport security had tipped Morris off to Sinclair's arrival and subsequent stop at the men's room.
 
Morris checked the strap to his holstered gun, loosened for easy retrieval. He shouldered the door and entered the bathroom. 

The room was bright and stark, with one urinal and one stall.

It was empty.

“Damn it! He’s not here.”

“That’s impossible,” Cliff responded, “I haven’t taken my eyes off this door since Sinclair entered. There hasn’t been anyone else in or out.”

“Well he’s not here now.” Morris turned away, speaking into his radio to his team. “We lost him, guys. Spread out. He must have been tipped off somehow, and he may have disguised himself.”

Morris scanned the room again for any evidence that would explain Sinclair’s disappearance. Noticed one of the ceiling tiles askew. The one just above the empty stall. He motioned to Cliff.

Cliff held the stall door open as Morris stood on the toilet. He was just lifting the tile when it was ripped away from above. A booted foot came swiftly down out of the hole. It struck the task force agent in the head; sent him sprawling into Cliff. As the two men struggled to regain their feet, Sinclair dropped down from the ceiling onto the toilet and, in a fluid motion, flung himself straight at Morris, just as the agent was reaching for his gun. The gun clattered to the floor, and the cartel leader used the moment to push past the two floundering men, pulled the door open and rushed out of the room before either men could react.

Morris sprang to his feet and sprinted for the door, exiting just in time to see Sinclair shoving past travellers as he entered the tramway, gaining distance away from the agent.

“Travis, he’s coming your way,” Morris called into the radio as he took off in quick pursuit, “be alert.”

Morris could see Travis at the other end of the walkway, but Sinclair easily bowled the other agent aside as he flew off the tramway and took off down the concourse.

Morris was certain the man was going to get away, when an observant teenaged girl flung out her leg just as Sinclair passed, and sent the cartel leader sprawling, face first, into a heavy potted plant.

“It’s over, Sinclair.” Morris yelled, approaching the fallen man with his gun drawn. “You are going down!”


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