It began as a routine check, Mark using his ID to enter and investigate with the aid of the staff. After an hour of inspection and a lack of any plausible threat besides a health code violation, Mark concluded that the informant lied. As he exited the building, he noticed a middle-aged Caucasian male exited a vehicle next to the plant with a silver biohazard bag in his right hand and a small black object in his other arm.
Thinking to himself that this was too easy, Agent Johnson began to approach the masked man. Once close enough, the agent could see that the smaller object was a sidearm, civilian-grade. Agent Johnson drew his ‘92. The man noticed the black-suited agent as he produced his own firearm and pointed the gun at the man.
“Place your weapon on the ground, immediately,” the agent ordered in a calm voice, his gun trained on the felon. The man actually complied.
Agent Johnson apprehended the man and began reading him the rights. Once he unmasked the man, he recognized him as no known terrorist. Mark then realized the ploy.
Johnson contacted Agent Andy via earpiece as he ran back to the factory. “The informant was right . . . terrorist plot . . . suspect in vicinity. Respond immediately,” Johnson issued in between gasps. He had to make it to the loading dock. It was the only other open entrance.
***
Agent Andy flicked on the siren and pressured the gas pedal. Agent Johnson would need reinforcements. Andy phoned Frink on the car radio.
“Um, we need Bionic. Might need some police too. We’re at the jelly bean factory.”
“Will do,” Frink responded, “Frink out.”
***
Agent Johnson got to the loading dock just as an armed and masked man jumped into the back of a delivery truck loaded with oil drums. Mark drew his weapon and fired at the vehicle’s open rear.
He could hear the employees screaming in the background as the truck began to accelerate. He would never be able to keep up with the truck on foot.
At that moment, Mark heard the siren of the team’s 2003 Volkswagen Passat and soon saw the car swing around the side of the factory. He lifted his arm at it and it pulled up next to him.
As Mark climbed in he said to Andy, “Pursue that truck and copy down its licence plate. Did you notify Agent Frink?”
“Yes, sir,” came Andy’s simple reply. He didn’t like to question Agent Johnson. He contacted Frink again with the plate number.
“Good. Drive.”
Andy drove as agilely as he could after the constantly swerving truck. Agent Johnson rolled down his window and stuck his ‘92 Berreta out. Andy could soon hear him fire at the truck in front of them.
The radio cackled and Frink’s voice could barely be heard saying, “Truck registered to Mr. R. Rhinesmith, one of the aliases of Arch Nemesis Zero-Zero-One. Be extremely careful. Frink out.”
Andy cursed, partly in fear and partly in excitement. He personally hated this guy. He wished he could fire a few shots at him.
Just then, more sirens could be heard behind them. The police had arrived. The truck seemed to respond be dropping out a few oil drums. These rolling obstacles nearly caused Agent Andy to crash. Unfortunately, they did cause him to spin to a halt, blocking the paths of the squad cars following them. The truck was now zooming around a corner and out of sight. Soon, Rhinesmith would ditch the truck and flee again.
The suspect was lost.
Mission failure.
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