+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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**picture: Maine State Route 11
The rain decided to take a break, and allowed Brock to step a little on the gas as he drove out of Portsmouth. Janowsky's call came in then. Russell knew Brock liked the man, but his way to beat around the bush usually wore Brock's patience thin.
So he picked up, listened for a moment and cut the man off as gently as he could. "Please send everything you have to Agent Lawrence, in Boston. She's our tech on this case."
Brock waited until he disconnected, then glanced at him.
"Another attack," said Russell, grimacing.
Those two words pushed Brock's foot further on the gas. They kept silent until Tanya called, a couple of minutes later. Russell put her on speaker, holding the phone between them.
She filled them in with her usual quick speech. "Okay, there's been another attack as in white jerk beats poor black man to death, but this wasn't planned, nor staged. It happened at a gas station on Route 11, south of Portage Lake, upstate. A guy stopped for a refill, found out the new employee was an African American boy, and he just snapped. So he grabbed his rifle, scared the customers with a couple of air shots, dragged the employee into the minimarket and locked himself up in there with him."
"When did this happen?" asked Brock.
"An hour ago. The witnesses didn't dare to break into the minimarket, but they did call 911. When the locals arrived, the employee had been beaten to death—looks like the white guy used his rifle like a club on him. And the attacker was bleeding out by his side. The employee had a box cutter on him and tried to fight back. He stabbed the attacker at least three times."
"Did he make it?" asked Russell.
"Barely. And Portland just sent me his picture. Turns out he's one of our guys: Sergeant Simon Copper. AKA Simon Peters, according to the Nebraska driving license I'd found."
"Send us the picture, please," said Brock.
"Right away," she said, and Russell's phone buzzed with the incoming file.
"Can you direct me to the gas station?"
"In a minute, sir."
Their GPS started beeping and they frowned.
"Did you just uploaded the location straight to our GPS?" asked Russell.
"Yes. Ashland PD has the case, and the subject was taken to hospital there as well. I'm uploading their addresses, but I'll need another minute to find you some decent accommodation."
"T, I love you."
"Not on speaker, with Al like a soldier by my desk."
Russell chuckled. Despite the situation, Brock was at the brink of a smile. "Thanks, Lawrence. Please call me if there's any update."
"Yessir. Good luck."
She disconnected and Russell looked up at Brock. "Janowsky?"
"Yes, please."
As soon as the man picked up, Brock started talking. "Janowsky, send people to the hospital, the crime scene and Ashland police station. Let the locals know I'm coming, and tell them to wait for me to interview the witnesses. Tell your men to send any new information to our tech in Boston. And get a man and a vehicle ready to take Coleman to Warren in thirty. I'm going straight to Portage Lake."
"Y-yessir."
Brock nodded and Russell disconnected.
"D'you really want me to go to Warren all the same? Are you gonna handle this all by yourself?"
"We need something real on these men before sunset, so it's up to you to get it. Please, call Cooper. We need at least two Tac teams in Portland tonight. First thing tomorrow tops."
"You think they're gonna lash out."
"As soon as they learn an African American killed their sergeant."
Russell flashed a tight smile. "And you're gonna make sure they get the news."
