Target

"Agent Daniel Lee Hesner. I have a job for you."

The decorated general folded his legs and clasped his hands in his lap.

"Do you accept?"

The younger man stood straight on the opposite side of his desk, his jaw tightening.

"Sir, I don't know if your proposal is right for my position. I am a CIA agent, and I am only to be assigned missions from my agency."

"Well this is a mission assigned to you for your country. I will repeat myself: Do you accept?"

Dan hesitated.

"Yes sir. Permission to ask you a question sir?"

The man nodded.

"Will this mission be related to the uncovered presidential assassination tomorrow?"

"Precisely. We need you to cover for one of the president's secret service agents."

Dan nodded, but gave a look as to ask what the reason would be. The general smiled.

"One of the president's bodyguards fell ill a few days ago, and we thought this would be a great opportunity to bring in a CIA operative to stand at his side."

Dan still seemed puzzled.

"We know the terrorist's numbers, positions, identities, everything. It was a clean code break and they have not and will never find out we broke it. We checked the details countless times and so far their every move is legible. However, the president could still be killed, though the likeliness is much less than thin. In that situation, it would be more than helpful to have a CIA operative near the president's position, especially one that is specifically trained to track and eliminate targets. Understand?"

Relieved, Dan nodded. He was just going to be a back up if something with the slightest possibility occurred. Nothing too dangerous.

"Worried of the dangers, were you?" the general read his mind.

"Yes sir, my wife just gave birth-"

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Her name's Jamie." the general put is hand on Dan's shoulder.

"Don't worry Dan. Everything will go smooth and you will just have ended up spending the day with the president of the United States. You may leave. Your official debriefing will be mailed to you tomorrow morning around five hundred. Your suit will be delivered within the same hour."

The general gave him a pat on the back and Dan left.




Dan woke up to a knock on his hotel room door. He slowly rose from is bed and answered it. A man with sleek black hair was there with a package.

"This is for you, sir?"

Dan examined the address on it. It was for him.

"Yeah, thanks." he said, accepting the package.

"It is no problem. I would just like to thank you for choosing the Grand Bronx Hotel, and to welcome you to New York City. Are you here to see the opening game today? The president will make an appearance to toss the first pitch in the new stadium!"

He seemed very excited. Dan nodded and the man began to ramble on about Yankee history. Trying his best not to be rude, Dan slowly closed the door while saying goodbye.
Suddenly the black displayed on his laptop monitor brightened the semi-dark room. His briefing had arrived.




"Ready?" the limousine had pulled up in front of the main gate. They were a few hours prior to the starting of the opening game. The time was 3:00 PM. The president would throw the first pitch at 6:35. A man suited in SWAT gear had opened the door on Dan's side. He held out his hand.

"Troy Faulk, SWAT Lieutenant." Dan shook his hand and stepped out, followed by another agent and the president himself. He shook both Dan's and Troy's hands.

"It's an honor to have you in our city, Mr. President." the president smiled and nodded.

"So how's this whole thing going to unfold?" he asked.

"Well, the terrorists' plan is to set five snipers, three in private boxes in left, center, and right field. One other will be in left-center on the roof, right above the upper deck, and the last one will be on the fifteenth floor of the new Suntrust that's under construction just a block east of the stadium."

"I hope they won't have to hurt anyone getting to their positions...will they?"

"Not at all. The boxes have been reserved and the construction workers are off duty today. We've tipped off the security to turn their heads when the fifth sniper ascends to the roof."

"Good, good. What about the halls within the stadium and the seats?"

"Fifty men are to be seated and another twenty will be dwelling within. CIA will be ushering people to their seats and each terrorist will be identified and kept tabs on, as well as inside. Also, a majority of the press and private staff will be conspirators, and so taking care of them will be my job. We'll have SWAT on standby. Five minutes before the shots are to be fired we rush in and take them out, along with the snipers. We have our own gunmen placed within view of each sniper."

The president patted Troy on the shoulder and continued to the gate.

"Well done. I'll see you in the dugout, Hesner." he said.




5:45 PM - fifty minutes until first pitch -

The gates had officially opened an hour ago, and people were still packing into the stadium. CIA had already identified most of the targets. Three of five snipers had already reached their positions and were most likely unpacking their rifles. However, someone entirely different had plans of his own.
A shadowy figure passed through the glorious arced halls of the freshly new and shining Yankee Stadium. With him he carried a briefcase, unusually long and painted a slick black. Unlike most briefcases at the time, it had no designer brand obnoxiously covering the whole right side. An undercover agent spotted him among the mass of attendees.

"Charles, I think I found one of the snipers. He's about 6'2, medium build, bald." he spoke into is hidden microphone.

"Uh...I'm not finding him, man. But he could be filling in or something. If he seems suspicious, check him out."

"Will do. Thanks."

The agent began to follow the man, weaving through the crowd. Soon the numbers began to fade as the man traveled to the far end of the park, the agent still in loose pursuit. By the time they had reached the exact opposite end of the stadium, only a few people were still around. It was forty minutes until the president threw the first pitch. The man had stopped to watch the field from a monitor mounted on a column. The agent decided to use his security uniform to his advantage and get a closer look at the man.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said, approaching his suspect. The man turned around and examined the agent briefly before applying his attention.

"Can I see your ticket?" the man handed him his ticket with sangfroid.

"Your seat's on the other side of the stadium, sir. May I ask what business you have here?"

The man smiled. By now there was no one within plain view in the halls. The star spangled banner was starting to boom throughout the park. He quickly drew a silenced pistol and placed it at the agent's hip.

"An interesting question, agent Barnes. Why, I could have just arrived through that gate and had taken a minute to observe this beautiful stadium or to have a breath of this fine, New York air, but instead you imply that I have come here from the opposite end, which also implies that you may have followed me here...Followed me for the last ten minutes...I think it's more my right to ask why you are here, don't you think? But I don't need to, agent Barnes. I knew you would be positioned by gate B, so I exercised the possibility you may follow me. So what do I do? I have a few minutes to spare, so why not play along? Lead him to the opposite end of the stadium where nearly no one enters. I don't blame them. Nothing's here except a bathroom and the stairs to upper deck, and with the new free seating program along the right field wall, what's the point of sitting what seems like miles away from the game? It's easy strategy, Barnes. Now, speaking of the bathroom, why don't we make a pit stop? I gotta take a leak."

Agent Barnes looked around for witnesses. There were none. The man walked toward the bathroom, his gun in plain view.

"Charles, did you hear that?" Barnes whispered as quietly as possible. The man turned around.

"The glasses case in my pocket contains an electro-magnetic device. It disables all communication within ten yards."

Barnes began to step away. Before fully returning to the bathroom door the man raised his weapon in his direction.

"Come on, Barnes. I don't want to make a scene." the agent reluctantly followed the man into the restroom. He locked the door behind them.

"Stay here." he said, and dragged Barnes' gun out of his back pocket.
"Hmmm, can't let you run around with this, can I?" his remarked, and stuffed it in his coat. While he opening it Barnes caught a glimpse of the inside the coat. Syringes and magazines were strapped inside, along with a pistol identical to the one he held in his right hand.
The agent waited by the door while the bald man kicked open each stall. After the third a man called,

"Hello?" the bald one continued to the stall where the voice came from and kicked it open. The occupant's scream was interrupted by three silenced gunshots. Specks of blood clinged to the killer's necktie.

"Dammit." he walked over toward the sink and began to wash off the blood.
"Barnes, come here please." he said, and Barnes approached him. The man raised his gun and sent a bullet through the agent's throat. He fell into the corner and clutched his neck with both hands, choking on his own blood while the man began to strip Barnes of his clothes.

Two minutes later, the man emerged from the room, adjusting the security cap on his head.




6:25 PM - ten minutes until first pitch -

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!!!"

Dan and another secret service agent accompanied the president to the mound. Ten others were on stand by on each dugout.

Troy sat inside a van with twenty other SWAT members, waiting for the five minute mark. They were to apprehend as many as possible, and kill any armed threat.

"Gimme some insight, Hesner." Troy spoke through his microphone.

"All snipers are in place, every ground and press level target has been identified. All agents have been accounted for except agent Barnes. The man's a drug junkie, from what I've been told. He's supposed to be layed off after this operation. I woudn't be surprised if he's buying out one of the bud stands."

"Sounds good. How's the field from your point of view?"

"Amazing. How's your's?" Dan chuckled.

"That's not even funny, Dan." Troy laughed too.
"About Barnes...I think we should find him, he's probably making us look bad. If he isn't answering his piece than track him through security footage."

"Tried already. Control room is not replying. Damn NYPD probably never turned their pieces on."

In reality, the control room was smothered in blood.



6:30

"Go, go!" Troy and his men rushed out of their van, loaded and geared for a fight. They charged up the main stairs and into the private area. People muffled their own screams as to not give away their protectors' position.

"Troy, who's in the owner's box?" Dan's voice rang in.

"I don't know, Dan, why?" Troy replied. They were closing in on the press boxes.

"Oh, no..."

"Dan, what is it? Tell me what the hell is happening?"

"Get in there, Troy, there is a man with a gun!"

Dan watched in horror as a man mounted his rifle over one of the box seats. It sparkled in the field's lights, catching Dan's eye. He can see me, he thought. Dan hurried off the field and into the left dugout. Grabbing a pair of binoculars, he focused on the man's position. He was already firing his weapon. They were in entirely different directions, however, which worried Dan even more.

"Dan, are you there? Answer me, dammit!" Troy had been trying to reach Dan that whole time.

"Maybe it was a last minute box transfer, Dan, just cool it. Anyway, SWAT snipers have already executed the gunmen and reported back. That guy's probably slumped over his weapon with a bullet in his head."

"Troy I just watched him fire five times, in different directions..."

"Hold on, Dan," Troy said, and produced a walkie-talkie from his belt.
"Counter snipers, come in, counter snipers."

There was no answer.

"Alright I'm checking out that box, Dan."

The action had already started. The SWAT sweeped into the press boxes, lighting up the enemy. Bystanders were filed out, along with unarmed terrorists. They were to be reidentified and apprehended later. Screams bursted among the crowds of baseball fans while agents tackled or killed the ground targets. Bathrooms were checked and all terrorists were snuffed out, same as in the halls.
But something else happened. Something not according to plan. Dan was walking back to the president's side when a brief wind blew past his face. The president staggered for a bit, blood drizzling down his forehead. Then a blast. Gunfire from the right dugout made the president's fall.

"Dan, the press boxes are secured and I'm heading for the owner's box." Troy's voice was barely audible. The screams shrouded Dan's mind, enveloping it in confusion. Then there were more bangs. Secret service men dragged a bloodied bat boy from the right dugout. Dan approached him.

"Who put you up to this?" he inquired with force. The bat boy smiled.

"What are you talking about, man? It was all me!" Dan punched him in his chest wound and grabbed his neck.

"Who the hell put you up to this? Who paid you? Who briefed you? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?"

The bat boy laughed.

"The guy's a freakin' ghost, man. He offered me a load of green to do it. I never heard his voice never seen him, hell I'm not even sure he's a he! I just got an email telling me what to do, where to get the money, and if I don't carry out then he'd track me down and kill me." the bat boy's smile faded as he took his last breath. Dan slammed the dead body into the baseline dirt and sprinted up the stands, pushing and shoving through the panicking crowd. He reached the end of the halls and charged up the stairs to the private boxes. When he reached the top floor an explosion rocked his ear drums. It came from the owner's box.
Dan rushed to the scene, finding three bodies, one of them Troy's.

"Troy?" the man's eyes slowly opened and he winced.

"It was rigged. The bastard blew up the owner's box!" he coughed. Paramedics were already marching up the staircase with stretchers and gear.

"Where do you think he went?" Dan asked Troy.

"There's only two emergency exits. One's a ladder from the ceiling that leads to the roof and the other is jumping off the private balcony." he closed his eyes as the paramedics lifted him up.
Dan changed his earpiece frequency.

"Does anyone see a rope, rappel or some type of climbing device hanging from the owner's box before the explosion?"

All responses were no's. It was possible that he assassin had done it coincidentally when no one was looking, but Dan decided to check the roof before further investigation in he balcony. He peered through the shattered door frame into the room. There was barely enough flooring to stand on.
Thinking fast, Dan hurried back to the staircase and got off at the upper deck. He ran up every aisle until he was in the far back against the stadium walls and searched for a way up. Then he heard light footsteps above him. The killer was crawling toward the front end. Dan quickly drew his pistol and blew holes through the roof. The assassin's footsteps sped up until he rolled off and landed on his feet behind Dan. Before he could spin around and aim his weapon the man disarmed him and his gun bounced down the aisle until dropping to the stands below. Dan threw his fist and made contact with the man's left cheek. He quickly countered and jabbed Dan in the gut. Then, in a split second Dan reached for the gun in the man's coat pocket while the killer reached for his other. And so they stood, both with guns in each other's faces.

"My names Dan, what's yours?" the man smiled.

"I already know your name, Daniel Hesner. You can call me 'hitman'."

"My boys are already on their way up here, 'hitman'. Would you like to go quietly?"

"Quiet is not my style. But if the client requires it-"

"So I'm guessing you want to go with a bullet in your head?"

Hitman chuckled.

"I'd prefer to die on my own accord. Death from failure is also not my style."

"You didn't fail. The president is dead."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Daniel. Completing your mission includes making a clean escape, which is just what I intend to do."

Dan kept his gun firm but looked around, searching for the men that were to come to his aide.

"You think our struggle was heard through your microphone? I broke it between my index and middle fingers while I disarmed you." he held the broken device in his free hand.
"The last time they heard from you, you were asking of the balcony, so that's where they'd assume you went. Besides, they're probably too busy cuffing the 'bad guys'. They were very easy to convince you know. I got a whole lot of money for the blueprints and plans I gave them. Their funding from Al-Qaeda took care of the rest. Hell, this whole hit was easier then I thought. Now, I'm going to take my gun back, agent Hesner, and you will walk away."

"Just because you disarmed me does not mean you can beat me, 'hitman'."

"Watch me." Hitman pulled the trigger but Dan had already tilted his head to dodge it. Before he could fire again Dan grabbed the wrist of Hitman's armed hand and pressed the barrel of his pistol against it and fired. Hitman grunted and held his wound, blood seeping through his fingers. He then released his wrist to shoot Dan in the shin and beat him down with the butt of pistol.
Taking his weapon back from Dan, he jumped off the upper deck, and disappeared.




7:25 PM

When Dan finally came to, he was surrounded by medics in the back of an ambulance. CIA operative Kyle Grenger was seated to his left.

"Good to see you, Hesner. We have a job for you."



***To be continued in, "Tracker"