The Marshal Pt. 03

"Five minutes! What the fuck are they doing, jacking each other off?" Rob snarled.

She spoke into the phone again. "He said NYPD has blocked off the roads around us because of the gunshots. They're on foot."

"Shit!"

"He said they're coming and to just hold on."

She listened again. "I don't know what street we're on! He wants to know if we're on Beatty or Gaffen."

"Beatty, just east of Gaffen."

She repeated it into the phone. "He said they had it. They're about six blocks away."

He began to relax. They were going to make it.

He saw a shadow of movement. He waved his hand in the universal get down gesture, and Bae moved behind some carboard boxes and crouched. He moved to the other side of the door where he'd be out of sight until it was too late and got ready. The man was rightfully cautious. He didn't know if Rob and Bae were still in the store, waiting to ambush him, or had gone out the back. A figure, little more than a blurred shape, paused at the door to the stock room, and Rob tightened his grip on his Glock as he held it at ready close to his chest. He had to be sure before he fired. He didn't want to kill a customer or an employee, and he wanted to be sure of his target before he committed to action.

Rob glanced at Bae. She was sitting behind the boxes, her eyes huge with her arms around her knees, pulling them tight to her chest to make herself as small as possible and rocking silently with a hand clasped firmly over her mouth. She was clearly terrified.

A hand began to open the curtain. If the hand grasped a gun, Rob would know it was his target, but the hand was empty as it slowly opened a gap in the plastic. The man's other hand was visible, but the plastic was so opaque and yellowed he couldn't be sure it held anything. Rob licked his lips before he stepped from the wall and pivoted to point his weapon at the shape on the other side of the plastic. "U.S. Marsh--"

The man jerked back. Rob plunged through the curtain, wanting to press his advantage before the man could recover from his start. Rob and Han's goon stood nose to nose.

In emergency situations, people rarely rose to the occasion. They normally fall to their training, and Rob's training took over. He tried to extend his weapon while simultaneously protecting himself from his adversary by getting in close. The other man did the same, and the two men went down in a tangle. The thug landed on Rob's gun hand and twisted the Glock from his grip, almost breaking Rob's wrist in the process. The goon kicked away from Rob, trying to get enough space to bring his weapon to bear. Rob didn't have time to reach his weapon, so he kicked out, his boot hitting the gunman in the chest and spoiling his aim. It was a desperation move, but it worked. The thug's gun roared, shattering the glass door of the ice cream case.

The thug threw himself away from Rob, still trying to gain some space, but Rob followed, lunging at him from his position on the floor, desperately trying to stay in close where the thug couldn't use his weapon. Rob had to gain control of the man's pistol or he was dead. As the thug scrambled to his feet, Rob hit him in the legs and knocked him to his back. Rob grabbed the gun as his opponent tried to point it at him down the length of his body. The two men strained for a moment, but Rob had the leverage advantage and was able to twist the gorilla's arm to the side. The gun roared again when the gunman's hand hit the floor. Rob imagined he felt the bullet's passing breeze on his shoulder, but there was no pain. Another hole appearing in the cooler, but now the slide was jammed and a partially ejected shell was visible. With the slide wedged by the shell casing, the gun was useless until the thug cleared the jam.

No longer able to use his weapon, the gunman dropped it as the two men squirmed and twisted on the floor, grunting and gasping in effort and pain. Rob almost had him in an arm bar, but the goon obviously had some training and slipped the developing hold to roll away and bound to his feet. Rob knew he'd never be able to reach his weapon in time, and the goon's was useless. The two men were left with no choice but to go medieval on each other.

Rob was still scrambling to his feet when the other man kicked. Rob twisted and took the blow on his shoulder while bulling his way through the kick. The impact hurt like a bitch, but Rob didn't slow. Rob was still off balance from the man's kick when he tackled the gunman around the waist and drove him backwards. The goon roared with pain as the two men crashed into the milk and egg cooler, smashing eggs and bursting milk cartons. They rolled into the floor, grappling as they tumbled and rolled, eggs and milk covering the two big men in slime and making it impossible for the marshal to gain control of his opponent.

Rob tried to break away to reach his sidearm, but the goon hit him like a freight train and tried to drive Rob through the hard concrete floor. Rob crashed painfully to the floor on his back, the marshal loudly crying out his agony, but he had no chance to recover. Rob dodged a punch, the thug's fist striking a glancing blow on Rob's cheek that made him see stars. His teeth bared in a feral snarl, Rob got his hand under the other man's chin and began to force the other man's head back as he bellowed in effort, every muscle in Rob's body burning with the effort. Rob was no longer a U.S. Marshal, no longer a man. He was an animal fighting for its survival.

The big Korean tried to pull Rob's hand away, giving the marshal the opening he needed. Rob drove a fist into the gorilla's throat. Because Rob was on his back, his punch didn't have as much power as he would have liked, but it had enough. The thug fell back while grabbing at his throat, his eyes wide in surprise. Rob rolled to his feet, his back screaming in pain, but he was so pumped up on adrenaline he barely noticed. His opponent was struggling to his feet when Rob plowed into him again, picked the other man up by the waist with a roar of rage, and carried him three steps with his momentum before driving the goon into the orange juice case. The Korean again screamed in pain as they tumbled to the floor.

The fight was going out of the goon, but he tried to rally. Han's man kicked Rob away, and the two men staggered to their feet, both hurting from the damage they'd inflicted on each other. They attacked again, the thug driving a meaty fist into the marshal's stomach. Rob woofed out air as he bent with the blow and stumbled back. Rob took another blow to the ribs that further doubled him over, but Bae's protector was still fueled by rage and fear, and he countered with an open hand strike to the chin of the goon that connected with stinging solidly.

The thug went down hard. Unlike in the movies, where the hero waits for the bad guy to get up, Rob went down after the man to press his advantage. The marshal drove a hard right into the gunman's face, again hitting him with the meaty heel of his hand to deliver maximum damage with minimal risk of injuring himself, his enemy's nose exploding with blood. The thug grabbed Rob's face, his thumbs searching for his opponent's eyes. The marshal bellowed in pain as he pulled the man's hands away before he could destroy Rob's sight. In Rob's desperation to save his vision, he'd left himself open to attack, and the gorilla tried to pull the marshal into a choke.

Kicking and straining, desperate to prevent the gunman from locking his arm around his throat, Rob grimaced and bared his teeth. If the man managed to get his hold, he'd be able to choke Rob out and Bae would be defenseless. With a massive effort, Rob managed to get an arm inside, between the gunman's thick arm and his throat, the two men's arms and chests bulging with effort as they strained against each other in a desperate contest of strength. The men roared with desperate exertion as Rob strained with his entire being to force thug's arm open, the smear of raw eggs making the marshal slippery and impossible to hold.

The gunman lost his hold and the two men tumbled, the thug's legs going around Rob's waist to lock them together. Rob slammed his head forward into the goon's face, causing the thug to scream as blood gushed anew. Rob's vision dimmed from the impact, but he barely felt blow. Both men knew it was kill or be killed. Rob grabbed the thug's throat and tried to cut off his air.

The goon realized he was in trouble and grabbed Rob's throat in return. The two men snarled at each other, their massive arms locked straight and trembling with effort, their muscles bulging in another violent contest of strength and endurance as they tried to choke the life from their opponent. Rob's blood roared in his ears and his chest burned as his body consumed oxygen it couldn't replace in their final desperate struggle. Rob was on top and had the advantage over the other man. Their teeth bared in effort and defiance, they glared at each other with unmitigated hate. The gunman was weakening, Rob could sense it, and the marshal only had to hold on a moment longer for victory.

The gunman released Rob's throat and began trying to pry Rob's fingers from his neck, allowing the marshal to suck in much needed and welcomed air. The gunman released his leg hold and bucked his hips, tumbling the men over so that Rob was now on the bottom. The thug tried to escape, but Rob locked his legs around his opponent, preventing the man's escape as Rob held his choke, his arms straight, his chest and arms burning from his sustained effort. The thug fell across Rob's chest, his hands gripping the marshal's wrists and clawing at his fingers in a desperate fight for air as he thrust and squirmed, Rob grunting in pain as the goon crushed Rob's cock and balls between them.

The goon began to go limp. Rob released his throat and rolled the gunman off him. The man gasped, sucking in a great lungful of air, his eyes wide in surprise and relief, but it was too late for him, far too late. Rob loomed over him like the angel of death and put everything he had left into a final blow to the thug's throat, using a closed fist to crush the gunman' trachea.

Han's goon grabbed his neck, staring at Rob with wide, fearful eyes, his mouth working as he tried, and failed, to draw another breath past his destroyed throat.

"Die, you motherfucker," Rob snarled as he knelt over him, his own chest heaving as he tried to recover his breath, watching as the life drain from his foe's eyes.

Bae whimpered, unable to move as two shots rang out after Rob charged through the curtain. The two men were like bull elephants, bellowing and roaring in rage and pain as they thumped and crashed around in the store. She knew Rob was in a fight to the death, but she was frozen with her hand clamped over her mouth, incapable of helping, unable to move except to rock against the wall. After an eternity of screams and bellows of rage and pain, there was silence. She whimpered again. She wanted to look, she was desperate to see which of the two men had survived, but she was frozen in fear.

She didn't know the name of the man tracking them, but she'd seen him at Kwang-hoon's side. The man was huge, especially for a Korean. He might not be quite as tall as Rob, but he just as thickly muscled, and she knew Kwang-hoon often sent him to handle special errands. He was Kwang-hoon's favorite, and rumor said he was a frequent volunteer for Kwang-hoon's basement games.

"Bae," Rob called, his voice scratchy and hoarse.

With a gasp of relief, she jumped to her feet and rushed out, slipping and almost falling on the slippery floor as Rob slowly crawled off the deathly still goon.

"Is he...?" she asked.

"Yeah," Rob groaned he slowly moved off the dead man. She threw herself to the floor and into his arms to hold him tight. "We have to go," he growled as he wrapped her in his embrace.

He began struggling to his feet and she got under his left arm to help him up. He was covered in welts, blood, cuts, and God only knew what else. His shirt was torn, he was sticky and slimy in equal measures, and he was hunched over, but he was still the sexiest man on the planet. He picked up his weapon with an almost silent groan, checked it, and slowly slid it into his holster.

"We have to get out of here," he rumbled, his voice even more scratchy and hoarse than only moments before.

She helped him to the door. "Which way?"

"Right."

That seemed backwards to her, but she followed his directions. A crowd had gathered outside. They watched, pointed, and held up phones, but nobody offered to help. Fuck 'em. I'll do it myself, she snarled to herself. They'd made it half-block before she saw a group of eight men trotting toward them on the other side of the street.

"Over there!" someone called and the group charged across the street.

Rob was in no shape to defend himself, much less her. She'd never held a gun in her life, but she reached for Rob's pistol. The men weren't taking them without a fight. He must have felt her trying to pull his sidearm because his hand clamped down on hers before she could pull the pistol out of his holster.

"It's okay. They're marshals," he rasped.

The men surrounded them, their faces hard and alert. "Cogburn! You okay?"

"Great," he grumbled, his tone putting lie to his words.

"You Han?"

"Yes."

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"There's a body in the store back there," Rob said with a jerk of his head, his voice steadily getting weaker.

"Body? Dead?"

"Yeah."

The man in charge pointed and a man broke away from the group and trotted to the store. "Let's get you off the street."

They made it another block before a car pulled to a stop and they were stuffed inside with two more marshals sitting in the front seat.

"Hernández?" Rob asked as he groaned his way into the car.

"Shot twice. They've taken her to the hospital to get checked out. She's going to be sore as shit, but she'll be okay."

"We left our vests... somewhere," Bae said.

"You know where?" the passenger asked as Rob stiffly shut the door.

She looked at Rob. He shook his head, saving what voice he had left. "I have no idea. Some clothing store," she said.

The driver chuckled. "That's going to come out of your pay, Rooster."

Rob smiled wanly. "Not mine. Hernández gave them to us," he said, his voice gravely.

The other marshal grinned. "Oh. In that case, I wouldn't worry about it."

"What's wrong with your voice?" she asked softly.

"Asshole tried to crush my throat. I'll be okay," he whispered.

They had no more problems. The ruined Dodge was still sitting where they'd abandoned it, and there was a blue tarp draped across a body in the road as police milled around. She leaned over and looked at the clock on dash. The entire affair, from when Lou arrived to pick them up until now had lasted less than a half-hour. It had felt like hours, if not years.

They pulled through the regular security checkpoint manned by the NYPD that surrounded the federal courthouses, the New York State Supreme court, and other municipal buildings, and pulled into the secured garage under the Moynihan Building. Two more marshals were waiting as they pulled to a stop at the elevator.

"Rooster, we need to get you some medical help," one of the marshals said, taking Rob's arm.

Rob shook his head as he pulled free. "Not yet. I want to see Martinelli first," he whispered.

They stopped on the second floor and stepped off. The United States Marshal's shield was on the wall. The offices were mostly empty, since it was Sunday, but a few marshals were there.

"This way. Martinelli is waiting," the marshal escorting them said.

They stepped into a large conference room, the marshal closing the door behind them. An older man that nearly equally split the one-foot difference in height between Bae and Rob rose. "Ms. Han?"

She nodded. The man came around the end of the table and extended his hand. "Richard Martinelli, U.S. Attorney, Southern District, New York." She shook his hand. He turned his attention to Rob. "You Cogburn?" Rob extended his hand, but she could tell he was still evaluating Martinelli as they shook. "Ms. Han, are you injured?"

"No, thanks to Marshal Cogburn."

"Excellent work, Deputy Marshal."

"Thank you, but this shouldn't have happened."

Martinelli looked at Rob oddly, probably wondering why he was whispering and hissing. "Agreed. I still think the mole is SDM Gwynn. He's still--"

"You're wrong," Rob said softly.

"I understand you don't want to believe it's one of your own, but look at the facts. He's--"

"I am looking at the facts. Ms. Han and I would be dead if it weren't for SDM Gwynn. No word from him?" Rob asked, his voice surprisingly strong but much more ragged than normal. She could tell the effort pained him.

"None, and his phone has been turned off for the past two days so we can't track him. That leads me to believe he's taken his family and skipped town."

"Or he's dead," Rob said, his voice back to his whispering hiss.

"That's a possibility, but I think it's unlikely."

"Why?" Rob asked.

"Look at the facts. He assigned you to transport Ms. Han from California to New York. He knew your travel schedule. The L.A. Marshal's office said word came from New York your flight had been changed. He also knew about your flight out of Phoenix, and he knew when you arrived in New York. It all fits."

"You're forgetting he intentionally gave me the name of two people, people I'd recognize, who weren't marshals, in place of the two marshals he said he was sending. Why would he do that if he wasn't trying to warn me? Everything was arranged. All he had to do was let it happen. Had he not changed anything, Ms. Han and I would have sat right there and let them come right to us."

She felt sorry for Rob. Talking was clearly uncomfortable, if not painful.

"You're talking about Hernández and Walpole?"

Rob nodded. "That's right."

Martinelli scratched his jaw. "I don't have an answer for that. If what you're saying is true, we still have someone passing information to Han from the Marshals."

"Or you're office. Wasn't SDM Gwynn keeping you apprised? He said he was."

Martinelli frowned. "Yeah, he was. Often he just spoke to my secretary. Shit!"

"I think you better assume Han still has a source of information."

Martinelli nodded. "I'm going to put her under standard witsec protocols."

Rob nodded.

"What's that mean?" Bae asked.

"There will be at least two marshals with you at all times. We're going to put you up in a location known only to the witsec teams. You'll be safe there."

She looked at Rob and he nodded again. "These women are experts. You'll be safe with them."

"What about Rob? I trust him."

Both Rob and Martinelli shook their heads. "Can't," Rob said. "I'm not part of the witsec team."

"But you could be?" she suggested.

"Even if he were, he wouldn't be assigned to your personal security."

"Why not?" she demanded.

"Because it's against policy to mix genders on protection detail."

"He came to get me in L.A."

"That was just transportation. I'm sorry, Ms. Han, but it's out of the question."

"Don't worry," Rob said softly. "If I were in your shoes, I'd want them instead of me. They're trained for this."

She thinned her lips in annoyance. She wanted Rob, and not entirely because he'd warmed her bed. She trusted him. "If you say so."

"Trust me this one last time," Rob said with a wan smile. She wanted him to hold her, but she didn't want to jeopardize his job. Rob's gaze left hers and focused on Martinelli. "Keep her safe," he said, his voice once again strong. His tone was respectful, but there was clearly an implied warning as well.