Free The Fallen: A Derek Stillwater Thriller by Mark Terry

suit stepped into the freezer, followed by two other men. Derek recognized the woman.
    Sarah Macklin, the bureau’s lead agent during the summit. Like most of the staffers at the resort, he had sat through a few briefings she had run on what to expect. He was not encouraged by her presence.
    “Michael Gabriel?”
    He nodded. “Yeah? Who’re you?”
    She held up her identification. “Will you please step out of there?”
    “Uh, sure. Wait a second, I’m almost—”
    “Now, Mr. Gabriel.”
    Taking his time, he joined the wires, closed the panel, turned on the power, and looked at the indicators. The power came back on. With it he heard the whir of the compressor kick in.
    “Mr. Gabriel—”
    “Just finishing this up,” he said, “or we’re going to lose a few thousand pounds of meat.” He flashed Macklin a wry grin. “Wouldn’t want to give all the leaders of the free world a case of salmonella poisoning, now, would we?” He screwed the panel shut.
    “What’s this all about?” he asked, squeezing out from behind the shelving. “Hey, one of you guys help me shove this—”
    Macklin’s gun was out, as were Creff’s and Snyder’s. “Dr. Derek Stillwater, please drop your tools and tool belt and place your hands on top of your head.”
    Oh shit.
    “Hey, I don’t—”
    “Do it!”
    Damn.
    He cautiously slipped the screwdriver into his tool belt and held out his hands. “I’m going to unbuckle this, all right? I’m not going to do anything crazy. Okay? Ease down. Easy. I’m reaching down to unbuckle the belt.”
    He slowly dropped his hands to the buckle of his tool belt and unlatched it. The belt with a few of his tools slid away. He held it up in his right hand. “I’m going to put this right here next to my toolbox. Okay? Right here. Everything’s cool.”
    Slowly he let the belt down.
    “I’m coming forward. Slowly.”
    He did, hands held up.
    “On your head.”
    He placed his hands on top of his head. Stepping backward, Macklin said, “Creff, pat him down.”
    Creff holstered his sidearm and deftly searched Derek. Creff pulled out Derek’s wallet and flipped through it. “Michael Gabriel, it says.”
    “He’s Derek Stillwater. Dr. Stillwater, you’re supposed to be dead. Hands behind your back. Creff, cuffs, please.”
    “Hey, this isn’t nece—”
    Creff jerked Derek’s arms behind his back and slapped handcuffs tightly around his wrists.
    Derek protested. “Take it easy! I’m one of the good guys.”
    “That remains to be seen,” Macklin said. “Now, step outside.”
    “I want you to make a call to Secretary James Johnston. His personal cell phone number is—”
    “Can it, Stillwater.” She stepped out of the freezer. Creff gave him a shove so he followed her out into the corner of the kitchen area. The freezer was near the service walkway that ran beside the kitchen. Derek stumbled out of the freezer and into the hallway, dropping momentarily to his knees.
    “Hey, go easy!”
    Creff stepped up, caught him beneath his armpits and boosted him to his feet. “ ‘Hey’ yourself, asshole!”
    Derek turned to face Creff and froze. Standing behind Creff was Richard Coffee. Coffee recognized him at the same time.
    “That’s Coffee! Hey, look—”
    Coffee recovered fast, hand slipping inside his white catering jacket. He pulled out a matte black semiautomatic with a slender, cylindrical silencer on the muzzle. With an eerie calm, he fired the gun.
    There was a pop, not loud, and Creff’s head snapped back and he fell to the floor.
    Another pop, and Snyder went down.
    Agent Macklin was struggling for her gun, eyes wide, when Coffee shot her in the face.
    Derek, arms cuffed behind his back, tried to turn and run, but Coffee was on him in an instant. Squinting, Coffee spun him around, flung open the freezer door and shoved him in. He followed the move by smashing the barrel of his gun against Derek’s head.
    Derek’s world exploded into sizzling reds and blacks and