SIBUN: Emily Bankston (Book 2) - Chapter One


Jonas Hackle rushed into Jared’s office shouting “Let’s go!” while hitting his fellow agent on the back of the shoulder. Caught off guard by the flamboyant abruption, Jared’s hand instinctively reached for his gun as he twisted around in his chair. Seeing Hackle, he paused before drawing out his 9mm. Just a few more seconds and you’d of had a round to your face, stupid, Jared cursed to himself.

Unable to read Jared’s thoughts, Hackle continued. “We’ve got chatter about a possible assassination attempt on Senator Swanson. They want our team on site and in place at the capitol before the senator arrives to give her speech,” Hackle shared as he exited the room just as quickly as he had entered.

Jared stared blankly, momentarily dazed with the swift, unexpected interruption. Like a Jack Russell terrier startling its owner just before darting off into the street to chase a passing car, Hackle was gone in a flash, not sticking around to wait for Jared’s reply. Though he clearly expected Jared to follow. 

Grasping for some similitude of clarity, Jared locked his computer system, grabbed his bag, and rushed to catch up. Jared wondered if he would ever get used to Hackle’s hyperness—if that was even a real word. Forget ADD or ADHD, Jared figured the guy was seriously sniffing high-sugar-concentrate, red Kool-Aid mix. He was always wired up with way too much energy.


Kimberly Swanson was a right-wing spitfire. She held no punches and had more than a few enemies, both politically and personally. She was Pro-Life, Pro-Gun, and despised by the left. Her firm views did not always mesh with even her own supporters, and nearly all she stood for infuriated those who opposed her. She was outspoken and direct, despising flattery and wishy-washy politics. 

Her security detail had warned her about the possible attempt on her life, but she merely stated, “I will not allow those who devise evil to control me. My life is in God’s hands, and he’ll take me home when he’s good and ready.”


Texas Capitol, Austin, TX.

Charlie Rivers was the Special Agent in Charge. A veteran of more than forty years with the bureau, his grey hair and worn face gave proof to his time and experience. Though it was his hard stature and stern look that demanded respect, both from seasoned vets and new recruits alike. There was never any doubt that Rivers hated excuses and expected the best out of everyone.

“Alright. Gather ‘round guys,” Rivers started, caring little about whether or not any of the female agents found his statement politically correct. “There’s been chatter of a possible assassination attempt on the life of Senator Swanson today. Her security detail has been made aware of the situation, but it appears that the senator is dead set—pardon the pun—on giving her speech anyway,” he said with a faint smirk, accompanied by a stare that clearly dared anyone to laugh. 

“Our job is to ensure that the senator leaves this scene just as healthy as she arrived. If any harm comes to her, it will mar your personal record—but, more importantly, it will stain the bureau,” Rivers warned. “That isn’t going to happen on my watch,” he reinforced with his raspy voice.

“Alpha Team, you’ll set up snipers here, here, and here,” Rivers barked as he pointed out the positions on the screen with the aerial view of the vicinity. “Murray, Seymour, and Foulks, you’ll accompany Parker, Johnson, and Turner as their spotters,” he declared, pointing to each of them as he said their names. 

“It’s imperative that you six watch this entire area with God-like eyes and be ready to take out a target at a moment’s notice with God-like precision. You are our eyes in the skies. 

“There is no room for error. We’ve got to have the Omega3 Factor within the confines of this operation. You make a mistake, somebody’s gonna pay for it. It might be the senator, it might be a teammate, it might be a civilian, or it might be you—but if you make a mistake and you’re the one still standing, you’ll have me to deal with.”

Everyone knew what Rivers meant by Omega3. It was not the fatty acid supplement that could be found in stores. Omega stood for the Alpha and Omega, the God of Heaven, with 3 being a reference to his three-character traits: omniscient, all knowing; omnipresent, everywhere present; and omnipotent, all powerful. God did not make mistakes, humans did. In the end, God always prevailed, just as they needed to today.

The God-talk irritated Jared. Though he was not completely sure why it did, he questioned within himself whether or not it was really necessary. Jared reasoned that he had grown up religious and he did not feel the need to always invoke God’s name into everything. Not even in cursing, what little he did.

Jared wondered if Rivers was truly a religious man, or if he used such lingo purely for emphasis. Maybe the old-timer was merely a hypocrite like most of the other Jesus Freaks out there. Jared had never asked. Honestly, he had never really cared to know. Rivers did not come across as an individual too keen on talking about his personal life and Jared was not eager to share his. So, Jared supposed he was no better. The realization helped curb the annoyance. Then it completely vanished when his superior’s gaze turned toward him.

“Bravo Team,” Rivers called out, pausing to ensure they were all looking at him. “Brache. Thompson. Raymond. Latimore. Cummings. Hackle. Your mission is equally essential. You boys will have direct eyesight on the ground: upfront and personal contact. It is imperative—I can’t stress it enough—that you likewise embrace the Omega3 doctrine of combat. Your directive is to mingle within the crowd, looking for anything or anyone suspicious. You must out-think, out-wit, and out-maneuver any possible threat. You’ve got to move like the Spirit…”

Yeah, like the Holy Spirit, Jared mumbled to himself, finishing the words of Rivers. Though he could not help but borrow a few words from Mohamed Ali: Float like a butterfly, boys, and sting the assailant like a bee, Jared laughed to himself. Maybe he would use that as his “doctrine of combat” if he were ever the Special Agent in Charge.

“Omega3, boys, Omega3,” Rivers spouted, ready to dismiss the teams. “Alpha Team take your positions. Bravo Team get changed into your civvies and get set to sporadically infiltrate the crowd. Move out.”


Jared made his way toward the staging building to change. He could hear Rivers direct his attention to Charlie Team, the comm unit. Jared was sure Jade Lawson was biting her tongue nearly in two, as he paused a moment before entering to hear Rivers address the coed team as “guys” yet again. Closing the door blocked out the chatter, but the thought still resonated in the smirk across Jared’s face.

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