- Jul 12, 2018
- 9,336
Martha Williams was seated behind the reception desk of the Hay Adams Hotel in Washington D.C. The lobby was beautiful. It was clad on old, dark wood. The freshly-cleaned cream-colored carpets had seen many guests of the years, from Kings and Prime Ministers to billionaires, millionaires, and scam artists trying to impress their clients. To the hotel, it normally didn't matter who was staying there, as long as they could produce the money needed to keep holding onto their rooms. Martha was taking care of her mid-day chores, which included making sure that guests had checked out of their rooms on-time, as well as taking account of new guests that would be arriving later in the day. While it was against official policy to eat at the reception desk, she had worked at the hotel so long that she knew which rules she could get away with privately breaking. She carefully popped a M&M into her mouth, being sure to save all the red ones for last.
A lone man walked in. He was on the slender side and was wearing a dark suit with an equally dark tie, and a navy blue dress shirt. The collar button on his shirt was not buttoned, and his tie was just slightly loosened. He looked to be about 35 years old, probably closer to 40 than 30. His cold blue eyes matched his shirt, while his shorter brown hair was fashioned, but not as obnoxiously perfect as the news anchors and politicians that infested Washington. He was reasonably tall, probably approaching or just making it to six feet high. He had no facial hair, and was clean shaven, but he did have a light tan. To Martha, he looked like some handsome millionaire that would have flirted with her in her younger days. Now, she could only pretend not to notice when men turned to glance at other women.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," the man said to Martha as he walked up to the reception desk. His accent had a slight southern twang to it, her best guess was that he was either from West Virginia, or southern Virginia. Martha quickly set down her M&Ms and stood up.
"Welcome to the Hay Adams, sir. How can I help you today?" she asked.
The man, who was on the slimmer side, hooked his right thumb between his belt and his pants and, while doing so, moved back his suit jacket a bit which revealed a bronze badge. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Blake Majors. I'm looking for a man named Matias Gomez, he may be going by the name Jacob Lopez. Have you seen him?" he asked as he pulled out a small photograph from one of his hidden suit pockets and showed it to her. Martha carefully looked at the picture and shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm sorry marshal, I had last week off. Today is my first day back, so I haven't seen all of our guests - I haven't seen him. But I can check our guest list to see if either of those names match... I was actually just going through the list now," she said.
"That would be perfect, thank you, ma'am," Blake said as he watched Martha sit back down and start browsing through the list of guests.
"Has this man done anything wrong?" she asked.
"I just need to talk with him, it's just about some procedural things," he said, blatantly lying.
"Oh that's a relief," she said. "Oh look, there is a man here under the name... Jacob Lopez. He's in room 213."
"Thank you, I'll see myself in," he said as he walked past the reception desk and made his way to the elevators. He looked around, and spotted where the staircase was as well just in case he'd need to use it.
Blake took the elevator to the second floor, went down the hallway a few doors, and found room 213. He saw a maid-cart down the hallway, and walked over to it. The door to a room, which someone had probably recently vacated, was open. Inside, a woman was cleaning the sink in the bathroom.
"Excuse me," he said, just stepping into the room. The maid turned, somewhat surprised, and hoped that she hadn't just come into a room that she wasn't suppose to.
"Yes sir, can I help you?" she said with an Eastern European accent.
Blake showed his badge to her and said, "I'm a U.S. Deputy Marshal, would you mind helping me open one of these rooms?"
"Oh.." she said, momentarily contemplating if she should say yes or no. But she figured that if he got past the front desk, it was okay for him to be there.
"Sure, let me get my keys," she said as she walked into the main room and picked them off of the bed. The "key" was actually a plastic card, but it worked as a skeleton key for every guest room.
Blake would normally have a few other people, at least, working with him on an investigation like this. But the Marshal's service was spread thin at the moment around the country, as was the FBI, because of what had happened at the Capitol. He was actually suppose to be working on a different case, but he had a hunch due to some surveillance film he had gotten his hands on, along with a partially destroyed train ticket.
The maid went over to room 213 and unlocked the door. Blake quietly said thank you, and opened it. He could hear that the TV in the suite was on. "U.S. Marshal's Service! Show yourself!" he shouted into the room. He drew his gun from his holster and cocked back the hammer. Blake heard some movement, and then nothing other than the television which was on CNN. He slowly walked into the suite, which was large. It not only had a full-bathroom and a bedroom, but it also had a a kitchenette and a small livingroom which was where the TV was. However, just as he walked into the living room, a man came at him with some black object in his hand, and hit Blake over the head with it. The plastic alarm clock cracked and partially shattered when it hit the ground. Blake fell down as well, with a bleeding head now, but he was still a awake. The man jumped over him and ran out into the hallway.
Blake got up, stumbled a bit, and then pursued after the man into the hallway. This time, he was a bit more careful. Blake took out his cell phone and call back to headquarters in Washington, as he stepped into the hallway. "Gomez, freeze!" Blake shouted, but the elevator doors were already closing. Blake darted towards the stairs, and flung the door open as he started running down them. He made it down shortly after Gomez did. Gomez was already talking to two police officers who happened to be standing in the lobby (this wasn't uncommon for public buildings near the White House) and pointed at Blake who was still holding his gun.
The attention of the police turned to Blake, who just looked to be an armed civilian. Both of the officers drew their weapons, "DROP IT!" one of them shouted as they both aimed at Blake. Gomez briskly walked past reception and to the front door of the hotel. Blake kept perfectly still and said across the lobby - which was luckily lightly occupied at the time with terrified guests - "I'm a U.S. Deputy Marshal, let me move my coat slowly and I'll show you my badge," he said.
"Nice and slow, buddy," one of the D.C. officers said. They both saw the badge, and approached Blake with their weapons still drawn. Once thy were close enough to realize it was real, he took out his credentials and flashed it at them. No one picked up his cell phone.
Blake looked at the door of the hotel which was just closing as Gomez started to run.
"Put an APB out on Matias Gomez - M-A-T-I-A-S Gomez, that's him over there!" he said as he started running.
Blake shoved a guest out of the way and swung open one of the majestic doors to the hotel. He looked to his right and then left, and saw Gomez running down 16th Street. The man was wearing a suit, minus the tie, and a white shirt. He head a neatly-trimmed beard. Blake started running after him and tried headquarters again, this time someone picked up. "Gomez, I'm chasing after him - I'm on 16th Street, heading north on foot. I need backup, I need anything. He's in a suit, white shirt, no tie. Hispanic male, about 30. He hit me over the head," he said to his chief as he sprinted after Gomez. Gomez ran up to a cab and shoved a man who was about to get in aside. The cab made a u-turn and started heading north on 16th street, away from Lafayette Square.
"He's in a cab, number 6172!" he shouted into the phone before putting it into his pocket.
He looked around, and saw a parked U.S. Capitol Police car with a uniformed officer leaning against it, probably waiting for his shift to end so he could drive back to the station.
"Hey!" he shouted, badge in hand as he ran across the street, dodging traffic. The officer turned towards him and instinctively put his hand on his gun, which was holstered, and looked in his direction.
"I'm a Marshal! Fugitive in the yellow cab! Let's go!" he yelled at the officer as he ran towards the vehicle.
It took a second for the cop to register what the marshal had said, but seeing his badge was enough to convince him. The officer got into the police car, as did Blake, and turned the key. It struggled to start at first, and took two more tries before the engine kicked on. "Code 3, let's go!" Blake said.
The cop flipped on his lights and siren and floored the gas.
"What cab, what cab?" the cop asked.
"6172, yellow! That one on the left, it's taking a left!" he said.
Blake took his phone back out of his pocket to see if anyone was still there. He was connected directly to dispatch now, "He's in a cab, he just turned on M-Street, heading west. The cab is going fast, he might be armed," he said, a bit of blood now dripping down from his forehead and just to the left of his left eye. The cab was definitely speeding, at least the best it could, and the traffic was ironically getting more in the way of the police car than the cab. D.C. traffic tickets were notorious for being overly-expensive, and everyone was afraid they were going to be the one to get pulled over. They started to fall more behind, until finally they caught a break at Scott Circle and were able to cut across to Massachusetts Avenue (heading north east). Blake continued to update dispatch as they made their way closer to the vehicle, but still too far away.
The cab went onto Dupont Circle and exited onto New Hampshire Avenue Northwest. "Oh shit," Blake said to himself once he realized what Gomez's plan was.
The cab cam to a screeching halt just across the street from the Argentinian Embassy. "Thanks, you've been a big help," Gomez said to the cab driver. As promised, he produced three stacks of bound cash, and handed it to the driver. Then, he jumped out of the cab and ran across the street. He pulled out his passport and ran to the front gate of the embassy, waving it.
He shouted in Spanish, "I'm Argentine I'm Argentine!" as he ran towards it. The Capitol Police car finally turned onto New Hampshire Avenue. Blake saw Gomez running across the street and up to the embassy. He took out his gun and shouted for the officer to get them right next to the embassy. Blake also updated his dispatch. A helicopter and ten backup units from the U.S. Capitol Police, the Secret Service, and the Marshal's Service were already en route, and the FBI would probably be involved soon.
As Gomez approached the gate and showed his passport, the police car came zooming down New Hampshire Avenue. The police car screeched to a halt at the intersection of Q Street and New Hampshire. Blake waisted no time and jumped out of the vehicle, with his gun drawn. "Federal agent, freeze!" he shouted at Gomez as he tried to cross the street and nearly got hit by a car. Gomez was frantically showing his documents to the person at the entrance of the embassy. The gatekeeper now had to decide whether or not to allow Gomez in. He clearly was indeed an Argentinian citizen, and his passport and other travel documents were legitimate and up to date.
Naio90
A lone man walked in. He was on the slender side and was wearing a dark suit with an equally dark tie, and a navy blue dress shirt. The collar button on his shirt was not buttoned, and his tie was just slightly loosened. He looked to be about 35 years old, probably closer to 40 than 30. His cold blue eyes matched his shirt, while his shorter brown hair was fashioned, but not as obnoxiously perfect as the news anchors and politicians that infested Washington. He was reasonably tall, probably approaching or just making it to six feet high. He had no facial hair, and was clean shaven, but he did have a light tan. To Martha, he looked like some handsome millionaire that would have flirted with her in her younger days. Now, she could only pretend not to notice when men turned to glance at other women.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," the man said to Martha as he walked up to the reception desk. His accent had a slight southern twang to it, her best guess was that he was either from West Virginia, or southern Virginia. Martha quickly set down her M&Ms and stood up.
"Welcome to the Hay Adams, sir. How can I help you today?" she asked.
The man, who was on the slimmer side, hooked his right thumb between his belt and his pants and, while doing so, moved back his suit jacket a bit which revealed a bronze badge. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Blake Majors. I'm looking for a man named Matias Gomez, he may be going by the name Jacob Lopez. Have you seen him?" he asked as he pulled out a small photograph from one of his hidden suit pockets and showed it to her. Martha carefully looked at the picture and shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm sorry marshal, I had last week off. Today is my first day back, so I haven't seen all of our guests - I haven't seen him. But I can check our guest list to see if either of those names match... I was actually just going through the list now," she said.
"That would be perfect, thank you, ma'am," Blake said as he watched Martha sit back down and start browsing through the list of guests.
"Has this man done anything wrong?" she asked.
"I just need to talk with him, it's just about some procedural things," he said, blatantly lying.
"Oh that's a relief," she said. "Oh look, there is a man here under the name... Jacob Lopez. He's in room 213."
"Thank you, I'll see myself in," he said as he walked past the reception desk and made his way to the elevators. He looked around, and spotted where the staircase was as well just in case he'd need to use it.
Blake took the elevator to the second floor, went down the hallway a few doors, and found room 213. He saw a maid-cart down the hallway, and walked over to it. The door to a room, which someone had probably recently vacated, was open. Inside, a woman was cleaning the sink in the bathroom.
"Excuse me," he said, just stepping into the room. The maid turned, somewhat surprised, and hoped that she hadn't just come into a room that she wasn't suppose to.
"Yes sir, can I help you?" she said with an Eastern European accent.
Blake showed his badge to her and said, "I'm a U.S. Deputy Marshal, would you mind helping me open one of these rooms?"
"Oh.." she said, momentarily contemplating if she should say yes or no. But she figured that if he got past the front desk, it was okay for him to be there.
"Sure, let me get my keys," she said as she walked into the main room and picked them off of the bed. The "key" was actually a plastic card, but it worked as a skeleton key for every guest room.
Blake would normally have a few other people, at least, working with him on an investigation like this. But the Marshal's service was spread thin at the moment around the country, as was the FBI, because of what had happened at the Capitol. He was actually suppose to be working on a different case, but he had a hunch due to some surveillance film he had gotten his hands on, along with a partially destroyed train ticket.
The maid went over to room 213 and unlocked the door. Blake quietly said thank you, and opened it. He could hear that the TV in the suite was on. "U.S. Marshal's Service! Show yourself!" he shouted into the room. He drew his gun from his holster and cocked back the hammer. Blake heard some movement, and then nothing other than the television which was on CNN. He slowly walked into the suite, which was large. It not only had a full-bathroom and a bedroom, but it also had a a kitchenette and a small livingroom which was where the TV was. However, just as he walked into the living room, a man came at him with some black object in his hand, and hit Blake over the head with it. The plastic alarm clock cracked and partially shattered when it hit the ground. Blake fell down as well, with a bleeding head now, but he was still a awake. The man jumped over him and ran out into the hallway.
Blake got up, stumbled a bit, and then pursued after the man into the hallway. This time, he was a bit more careful. Blake took out his cell phone and call back to headquarters in Washington, as he stepped into the hallway. "Gomez, freeze!" Blake shouted, but the elevator doors were already closing. Blake darted towards the stairs, and flung the door open as he started running down them. He made it down shortly after Gomez did. Gomez was already talking to two police officers who happened to be standing in the lobby (this wasn't uncommon for public buildings near the White House) and pointed at Blake who was still holding his gun.
The attention of the police turned to Blake, who just looked to be an armed civilian. Both of the officers drew their weapons, "DROP IT!" one of them shouted as they both aimed at Blake. Gomez briskly walked past reception and to the front door of the hotel. Blake kept perfectly still and said across the lobby - which was luckily lightly occupied at the time with terrified guests - "I'm a U.S. Deputy Marshal, let me move my coat slowly and I'll show you my badge," he said.
"Nice and slow, buddy," one of the D.C. officers said. They both saw the badge, and approached Blake with their weapons still drawn. Once thy were close enough to realize it was real, he took out his credentials and flashed it at them. No one picked up his cell phone.
Blake looked at the door of the hotel which was just closing as Gomez started to run.
"Put an APB out on Matias Gomez - M-A-T-I-A-S Gomez, that's him over there!" he said as he started running.
Blake shoved a guest out of the way and swung open one of the majestic doors to the hotel. He looked to his right and then left, and saw Gomez running down 16th Street. The man was wearing a suit, minus the tie, and a white shirt. He head a neatly-trimmed beard. Blake started running after him and tried headquarters again, this time someone picked up. "Gomez, I'm chasing after him - I'm on 16th Street, heading north on foot. I need backup, I need anything. He's in a suit, white shirt, no tie. Hispanic male, about 30. He hit me over the head," he said to his chief as he sprinted after Gomez. Gomez ran up to a cab and shoved a man who was about to get in aside. The cab made a u-turn and started heading north on 16th street, away from Lafayette Square.
"He's in a cab, number 6172!" he shouted into the phone before putting it into his pocket.
He looked around, and saw a parked U.S. Capitol Police car with a uniformed officer leaning against it, probably waiting for his shift to end so he could drive back to the station.
"Hey!" he shouted, badge in hand as he ran across the street, dodging traffic. The officer turned towards him and instinctively put his hand on his gun, which was holstered, and looked in his direction.
"I'm a Marshal! Fugitive in the yellow cab! Let's go!" he yelled at the officer as he ran towards the vehicle.
It took a second for the cop to register what the marshal had said, but seeing his badge was enough to convince him. The officer got into the police car, as did Blake, and turned the key. It struggled to start at first, and took two more tries before the engine kicked on. "Code 3, let's go!" Blake said.
The cop flipped on his lights and siren and floored the gas.
"What cab, what cab?" the cop asked.
"6172, yellow! That one on the left, it's taking a left!" he said.
Blake took his phone back out of his pocket to see if anyone was still there. He was connected directly to dispatch now, "He's in a cab, he just turned on M-Street, heading west. The cab is going fast, he might be armed," he said, a bit of blood now dripping down from his forehead and just to the left of his left eye. The cab was definitely speeding, at least the best it could, and the traffic was ironically getting more in the way of the police car than the cab. D.C. traffic tickets were notorious for being overly-expensive, and everyone was afraid they were going to be the one to get pulled over. They started to fall more behind, until finally they caught a break at Scott Circle and were able to cut across to Massachusetts Avenue (heading north east). Blake continued to update dispatch as they made their way closer to the vehicle, but still too far away.
The cab went onto Dupont Circle and exited onto New Hampshire Avenue Northwest. "Oh shit," Blake said to himself once he realized what Gomez's plan was.
The cab cam to a screeching halt just across the street from the Argentinian Embassy. "Thanks, you've been a big help," Gomez said to the cab driver. As promised, he produced three stacks of bound cash, and handed it to the driver. Then, he jumped out of the cab and ran across the street. He pulled out his passport and ran to the front gate of the embassy, waving it.
He shouted in Spanish, "I'm Argentine I'm Argentine!" as he ran towards it. The Capitol Police car finally turned onto New Hampshire Avenue. Blake saw Gomez running across the street and up to the embassy. He took out his gun and shouted for the officer to get them right next to the embassy. Blake also updated his dispatch. A helicopter and ten backup units from the U.S. Capitol Police, the Secret Service, and the Marshal's Service were already en route, and the FBI would probably be involved soon.
As Gomez approached the gate and showed his passport, the police car came zooming down New Hampshire Avenue. The police car screeched to a halt at the intersection of Q Street and New Hampshire. Blake waisted no time and jumped out of the vehicle, with his gun drawn. "Federal agent, freeze!" he shouted at Gomez as he tried to cross the street and nearly got hit by a car. Gomez was frantically showing his documents to the person at the entrance of the embassy. The gatekeeper now had to decide whether or not to allow Gomez in. He clearly was indeed an Argentinian citizen, and his passport and other travel documents were legitimate and up to date.
Naio90
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