Fifteen minutes later Michael was reasonably certain that
no one else remained and he sent Birkoff for the van. When he returned Michael had Birkoff
contact the Section. Madeline took the transmission.
"We've recovered the warheads." Michael told her.
"Good, we'll send in the housekeeping team to pick them up."
"We aren't at the warehouse, they were moving them when we got there. Birkoff and
I are at an airstrip about 12 miles from the warehouse with the weapons."
There was dead silence for a beat, "You and Birkoff."
"Yes."
"And the rest of the team?"
"Still at the warehouse."
Madeline stared at her screen, seeing Michael looking back at her, impassively.
'No,' she thought to herself, 'I am not even going to ask.'. To Michael she replied,
"Report to Operations when you get back. We'll send transport for the team and the
weapons."
"You heard?" He asked Birkoff
"Yeah, are we in trouble?"
"No, probably not much. We got the warheads."
"How long before they get here?"
"A couple of hours probably."
Birkoff nodded. They went back outside to keep an eye on the crates. It was only
slightly cooler outside the van. Michael leaned against one of the crates, scanning the
area. Birkoff sat on the ground beside him. Birkoff was tired and leaned his head back
against the crate. Occasionally one of them would pace around the area then return to the
weapons. Gradually Birkoff became aware of a noise approaching. He looked up, Michael was
alert and looking towards the road.
"It's too early for that to be Housekeeping." Michael said, checking his
weapon. "Take cover."
They waited tensely, hearing more than one vehicle approaching. Michael wished he could
just leave, Birkoff wasn't up to much more of this but they couldn't abandon the warheads.
"They've stopped." Birkoff whispered.
"They're approaching on foot."
Ten nerve wracking minutes passed. Michael wondered if some of the terrorists had
escaped the teams at the warehouse. He thought that he could make out a few shadowy
figures moving around in the tree line but wasn't sure. Suddenly the area was lit up with
floodlights and a voice boomed out,
"Federal agents! Drop your weapons! Come out with your hands on your heads!"
"Christ," Michael muttered, seeing the jackets on the agents, "it's the
fucking DEA. What next? The IRS?"
************
"What are you going to do?" Birkoff asked.
"We're standing here with 7 dead bodies and 2 nuclear warheads, where the DEA goes
the FBI can't be far behind, we'll pull rank. You have your ID?"
"Yes." Birkoff gulped. He'd brought ID with him every time he'd left the
section but had never actually used it before.
"Just follow my lead, move slowly, leave your weapons here. It won't do us much
good for them to discover we outrank them after they kill us."
"What about the van?"
"We keep them out of the van. If they do see inside make up some bullshit, they
won't know what they're looking at anyway."
Michael stood and moved slowly into the light with Birkoff beside and slightly behind
him. He had his hands in clear sight, slightly raised.
"Put your hands behind your head!" The voice called
"We're federal." Michael called back. There was silence.
"What agency?"
"NSA."
"NSA? Let's see some ID. Slowly, we have you covered."
Michael and Birkoff both reached into pockets on their flack jackets and pulled out
leather folders.
A middle-aged man in a DEA Jacket moved towards them, a younger agent following. They
kept Michael and Birkoff in their sights.
"Toss the ID to me." He said when he was about 15 feet away. Birkoff looked
at Michael, who nodded. They tossed their ID to the agent. He picked it up, examining it
closely, then pulled out a cel phone and made a call to verify it.
"We'll just stand here while we wait for the call back. You better hope that you
check out."
"What's taking so long?" Birkoff asked Michael quietly fifteen minutes later.
"They'll have to verify him before they confirm the ID." Michael told him.
Just then the phone rang. After a brief consultation the older agent called out,
"Okay, lower your weapons." He approached, "Sorry about that Mr. Lewis, but
what the hell are you doing here? I'm Special Agent Foster. We were expecting to bust a
shipment of cocaine. I have to admit I've never run across the NSA before." He was
curious and hoped to be enlightened but neither of the young NSA agents offered even a
clue as to why they were there. Foster kept looking at Birkoff. The kid had to be older
than he looked.
"We prefer to keep it that way." Michael told him, "We ran into some
unexpected trouble here."
"Is it just the two of you?"
"The rest of the team is cleaning up at another location, they'll be here soon.
I'm sorry, we probably scared off your drug dealers."
"Michael." He turned in response to Birkoff's tense voice. His younger
partner nodded towards one of the crates. Several DEA agents were approaching it.
"Please ask your men to stay away from the scene." He said to Foster, leaving
no doubt that it was an order.
Foster looked as though he wanted to argue but did as Michael asked. "Birkoff,
"Michael said, "Contact the team and let them know that the DEA is here. We
don't want them to come in shooting." He added for Foster's benefit.
"So what's in the crates?" Foster asked when Birkoff had climbed into the
van.
"I'm sorry that's classified."
"Of course it is. If you'll excuse me I need to check on my men." Foster went
across to where a group of agents was huddled talking in quiet voices.
"Are they really NSA Foster?" One of them asked.
"Looks that way." He confirmed.
Funny, the younger one doesn't look like a super spook."
Birkoff returned to Michael's side. "I let them know, Simon checked, these guys
really are DEA and they did have a bust scheduled for this location tonight."
"Good, let's send them on their way." Michael strode over to Foster and his
men.
"If I could offer a sugestion Special Agent?"
"What is it?"
"You might want to clear out of hear before my team arrives, or you and your men
will spend the rest of the night being questioned."
"Questioned?"
"We tend to be suspicious, you story checks out but my supervisor is a real tight
ass and will probably want to hold on to you guys just for the hell of it."
Ten minutes later there wasn't a DEA agent in sight. Foster had checked with his
superiors who had told him there was no point in hanging around since their own mission
had been blown. Michael was keeping an eye on the road while Birkoff wandered around on
the far side of the plane. It was very dark again since the DEA had taken their lights
with them. Suddenly Michael heard a shot from where Birkoff was supposed to be, grabbing
his weapon he sprinted in that direction and found Birkoff standing over the body. There
was a neat gunshot wound in the side of the head.
"Good shot" Michael said.
"I heard a sound, I just... I just fired."
"Well, you hit the kill zone."
The two of them stood, hands on hips, staring down at the lifeless body. Birkoff
finally spoke.
"It's a cow."
"It's steak now."
Feedback: 
