Ramo the assassin fled from his high vantage point on top of the mosque when the police swarmed to the agent and the diplomat in the alley. Ramo just witnessed a dozen of his finest men fall to a lone agent, and a dozen more fall to police. He was not very happy.
He exited through the sewers so as to avoid questioning. As he walked toward his underground den, he contemplated his options.
He knew his contractor would not pay now. The diplomat was still alive. And the only way to recuperate his losses would be to return to selling drugs.
No, he thought. I couldn’t go back to that now. I’ve got a rep as a hitman. My gang only does assassinations. Or at least what’s left of it.
Then an idea struck him. He could partner with another gang or something. But it would have to be out of town. He had to keep his reputation here.
Immediately before entering his lair through the sewer hatch, he saw a piece of paper fly down through a sewer grate. As if it were a sign, it landed at his feet. Ramo snatched it up before it got too wet.
It was an official notice from a government bureau to a local group of federal agents. On it, near the center, the words read, “NATIONAL MEETING THIS SATURDAY - ADVENT CONVENTION HALL, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS. MANDATORY ATTENDANCE.”
Perfect.
***
Agent Bionic cursed. He had accidentally let go of the convention meeting notice about a block back. Too late to go and get it now.
But that was the trouble with riding a Harley at 110 MPH. Papers tend to slip out of one’s grasp.
But dodging traffic worried him more now than a faxed piece of paper. He had to get to Agent Johnson.
He slowed and barely made it past a yellow light. The squad cars next to the mosque were close ahead.
“Hold on to your Red Socks, Cap’n Bionic has arrived!” he said into his earpiece.
Special Agent Mark Johnson shortly replied in a cackling voice, “Nice of you to join us, Agent Bionic. A shame we started - and finished - without you.”
Bionic slowed and swerved to a halt. He hopped off and ran to the black-suited Agent Johnson.
“Your reaction time was not very good. I assume you were preoccupied?” the suited agent inquired.
Bionic replied, “I’m not here to help you kill some terrorists! You can do that yourself. I’m here to tell you about the convention this Saturday.”
“Convention?” Agent Johnson said quizzically, “This is rather impromptu and unscheduled.”
“It’s some sorta awards thing. I think HQ heard about the size of my pipes and wanted to kiss them.”
“I doubt that’s the reason, Agent Bionic,” Johnson answered. Mark wished he could be sarcastic at moments like this.
“But we gotta get ready. The bus’ll be here at seven tonight. It’s an overnight thing, I guess.”
Agent Andy then pulled up with the team’s car. “Need a ride?” he asked. With that, Johnson hopped in and headed for home without talking to the investigators. If they needed to question Mark, they could call him. Besides, he needed to speak with Agent Frink before departing. The Professor claimed he “had some dirt” on Johnson.
***
A few hours later, Johnson was packed, showered up, and ready to go. Frink was still scrambling to fit his microscope into his attache case, Andy was flossing, and Bionic quickly tried to finish writing a keyboard piece before the bus came.
Agent Johnson was the first to see the Greyhound pull up. The black-suited agent warned the other members of the team via earpiece and grabbed his equipment. It would be quite a ride to Chicago.
On the bus, there were nine other agents. Johnson immediately recognized the members of Team 12 and Team 14. And he immediately recognized one of those team members as Team 13's old friend Special Agent Blake Marrari. Marrari went to the academy with the future Team 13 and decided to become a Mafia mole. His Italian traits were fairly evident as he had quite a short temper and had a boisterous, good nature. His hair style made him look like someone from an anime comic and he sported a small beard. The man hadn’t changed appearances since the academy.
“Ah, Mista Johnson!” Blake shouted to his old chum. Marrari had his arm around a female agent’s shoulders.
“Agent Marrari,” Johnson began as he took a seat, “Still breaking the old conflict-of-interests rule?”
From behind, Agent Andy mumbled, “It’s not fair. Blake always had the women. I never got anyone.”
Suddenly, the bus lurched forward, causing Bionic to fly into Frink, causing Frink to fly into Andy, causing Andy to land face-first in the lap of a seated male agent. The seated man recoiled and went for his Berreta, but stopped when Marrari lifted his hand.
“Andy, maybe you’re gay!” Blake exclaimed. It was an old, immature comment he used to say back at the academy.
“Still as youthful as ever,” Frink muttered.
“More than you could know,” Marrari said, “More than you could want to know.”
From that point on, most of the agents kept to themselves or talked to their respective team members. Only Marrari and Team 13 talked with each other. They caught up on old times and recent exploits. Agent Bionic bragged about saving the team from the recent terrorist activity, and Frink ranted about the unusual circumstances of their recent ventures. Marrari also informed the team of an anarchist that had recently become active in the Chicago area. The Italian then blamed the liberal hippies in office for the recent anti-government activities arising everywhere. He was quite the conservative, that one.
Soon enough, they were at the Chicago city limits.
***
The anarchist considered Ramo’s offer.
I do hate the FBI, he thought. And the secret service. I guess I could hate whatever agency these guys are in, too.
With that, the anarchist signed the contract. He hated being this official, but Ramo insisted on it.
Ramo smiled. Soon he would be receiving many contracts on the federal agents that would meet in this city. And he could take revenge on that one agent that killed half of his gang.
Yes, thought Ramo. Sweet revenge on the one identified as Special Agent Mark Johnson.
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