+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: Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah GA
Brock hid behind a tree to wait for Fred. The sniper came in no hurry from the SUV, wearing jeans cut below his knees, a Ramones T-shirt and his hair in a loose ponytail, his rifle in its bag hanging from his shoulder. Brock wasn't sure he wanted to look down, but he did anyway. Of course Fred wore flip-flops to complete his outfit.
At the same time, Fred wondered how did Brock manage to bear his tie fastened to his shirt, buttoned all the way up under his FBI Kevlar, as protocol stated for arrest procedures. He put down his bag and crouched to assemble his rifle. "Still no show?" he asked.
"She left her house ten minutes ago. We expect her to come any moment now," Brock replied, his eyes on a line of graves fifty yards away. "The carer says she comes every morning before eight a.m., with wildflowers for her son."
"Let's hope we didn't disrupt her routine."
"Even if we did, she'd stick to this one ritual."
Fred set his rifle's tripod on a low branch. "Where?"
Brock pointed at the solitary lane, flanked by tall, old trees. Fred brought his face to the scope and focused it. He saw Gillian across the lane, resting her shoulder against a tree and sipping coffee from a hundred-gallon paper cup. She looked like standing before a headstone.
Brock called Russell over the radio.
"I'm with Al and Ron outside Sarah Murray's place. We're waiting for the CDC agents to suit up in their biohazard gear."
"Hank's back to the hospital?" asked Gillian from her position.
"Yep, with the agent in charge of the CDC crew."
Brock looked back at the cemetery gates and spotted the woman coming from the street, a big bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. "Move as soon as you can, Coleman," he said. "The subject's here."
"Roger."
Brock stayed out of the woman's sight as she walked down the lane that would take her to Gillian's position. Then he put a knee on the grass, only a step away from Fred, hand to his holster.
Sarah Murray reached her son's grave and kneeled to replace the flowers in the stone vase. Gillian strolled to the nearest bin, dropped her coffee with a resigned sigh and approached the woman from behind.
Brock clenched his teeth. Gillian had refused to wear her vest, arguing it would catch the subject's attention right away and blow their plan. She'd pulled her blouse out of her jeans to hide her holster, but kept visible her badge hanging from her belt. He saw her stand behind the woman and sink her hands in her pockets. He scowled, feeling the first prick of burning cold in his chest.
"It's okay, Brockner," said Fred, face to his scope. "Reg can handle it."
Brock didn't answer, annoyed at being so obvious. They heard Gillian over the radio, talking in a dull way completely unlike her.
"Say goodbye to Jesse, Sarah, 'cause you ain't never coming back here."
The woman looked up from over her shoulder with a jolt and stood up. "What? Who are you?"
"FBI." Gillian nodded at the lane. "Don't make it harder for yourself. Let's go."
Sarah Murray stepped back as she frantically searched her bag. Gillian didn't even blink and Brock stiffened. The woman's file included a gun permit.
Fred swallowed a scoff. "Easy, Agent Brockner. Reg's got her and I got Reg."
Brock breathed deep, the burning taking over his chest when the woman produced a Glock 43 and pointed it at Gillian, who kept her hands in her pockets.
She looked Sarah Murray up and down, her eyes full of cold contempt.
"You must think you're the Mother of the Year, huh? Poisoning those kids..." she said, ignoring how the woman lowered her aim to point at Gillian's chest. "Why did you do it, huh? Why on earth would you put any child through the same hell Jesse went through?"
"Because nobody cares!" The woman's voice was a hysterical squeal. "No budget for researching BVD, they said! How many BVD cases? One in a billion infections? We're on important things! Well, maybe now they think it's worth the budget!"
"That won't bring Jesse back."
"I know. I know! I KNOW!" the woman screamed, and pulled the trigger.
Her eyes widened in shock as Brock cursed Gillian's family up to five generations—on her father's side.
"It's locked, douche," Gillian snarled. She finally took a hand out of her pocket and snatched the gun off of Sarah Murray's grip with a swift move. She unlocked it, pointed it at the woman's head and cocked it. "Raise your hands and turn around. Slowly."
The woman did so. But when Gillian stepped closer, handcuffs in hand, she tried to spin around and attack Gillian.
Brock moved to stand up and Fred stopped him, swallowing a giggle. Jeez, Brockner was all edgy about Reg this morning.
Gillian ducked and backhanded Sarah Murray, so hard the woman fell face to the ground across her child's grave. In a heartbeat, Gillian stood with a foot at each of the woman's sides and rested the barrel against the back of her head.
"Please try again," Gillian growled.
Sarah Murray let out a broken cry.
Gillian grabbed one of her hands, twisting her arm behind her back to cuff her. She tightened the cuffs around the woman's wrists and crouched by her head. Soil stuck to her face, tracing muddy tears. Gillian leaned toward her to speak in a furious hiss. "Don't dare cry, scum. You're but a cold-blood murderer. You never deserved to have a child to love."
Sarah Murray let out more desperate sobs, as Gillian yanked her up to her feet.
