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Page 30
“O—okay.”
Was that a sniffle he heard? What a crybaby! The better to get rid of him now before Randleman irritated him to death. Sal softened his tone. “I promise you’ll be okay. We’ll work this out. Promise.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” A smile curled his lips. If he only knew how.
“I’ll be there.”
Sal tapped his phone against his hand. He had to start closing the gaps, lest everything tumble down completely around him. Had Abigail left a copy with Gabe Santos? Probably. But Gabe was in hiding, and he’d most likely stay that way. Nate wouldn’t talk, not when it would mean his lovely Jillian and their children would die.
What about Mitch Patterson? A reluctant accomplice. One to be dealt with. Now. He placed a call to his younger brother. “Enrique, I need your assistance to wrap up a loose end. Get Mitch Patterson and take him to our hideout. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Did you get her?”
A real smile finally poked through Sal’s angst. “Two for the price of one. I have her sergeant as well.”
“Then I’ll see you there.”
With that, Sal set his phone on his lap. A victory, even if he’d lost a major battle of his war. Now to begin the final push. “Guillermo, we need to make a stop in Green River before we head to our hideout.”
31
Sunday, April 23, 2017 1745 hours MDT, Cedar City, UT
Nabeelah surveyed Mitch Patterson’s house from her jeep down the block. The stucco-and-stone structure remained quiet in the late afternoon light. She tried to envision the scene of a family settling in after a weekend. She couldn’t. Could she ever have a normal life? Hah. Never. Something nipped at her spirit. She couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—address it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Frisco sat behind the wheel. A bruise had formed on his cheek from his adventures on the Outer Banks. He glanced at her, and she nodded. That one motion conveyed what she desired, so well did they know each other.
He gripped the door’s handle. “Let’s do it. Fast. Before Torres decides Mitch and his family aren’t worth squat.”
His hurt expression when she’d shaken off his hand earlier that day suddenly flashed across her memory. She wished she could simply talk things out with him. They couldn’t. Not then with lives in the balance.
“Warren?” Nabeelah murmured into the boom mic hanging just in front of her lips.
“Present,” Warren replied from his sniper perch on the roof of a nearby house.
“Nesbitt, are you in place?”
From the van they’d commandeered from the airfield, Nesbitt responded in the affirmative. She took a deep breath. “Let’s go.” She slid from the SUV and headed up the front walk. After a brief hesitation, she rang the doorbell.
A child’s voice shouted, “Daddy! The doorbell rang!” Little feet ran behind the door. “I got it!”
“Baby, wait,” a baritone voice said. More feet, this time heavy and male.
The lock flipped back. The front door opened.
Behind the screened door, a little face framed by light brown curls gazed up at her. The child’s mouth formed an O. “Daddy, she’s pretty!”
Nabeelah’s heart caught. She pushed it down. “Mitch Patterson?”
A tall man with the same light brown, curly hair as his daughter, stared at her. A frown marred his features, and lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. “Who are you?”
Nabeelah pressed her cred pack against the screen. “Captain Nabeelah Khan, Defense Intelligence Agency.”
He drew in an audible breath as if he knew the purpose of their visit.
“May we come in?”
“No.”
Would he not argue with her in broad daylight? She lifted her chin. “Does the name Kyra Martin mean anything to you?”
He huffed out a deep sigh. Finally, he nodded and looked down at the little girl who crowded against him. “Vespa, give them room to come inside.” He put his hands on her shoulders and tugged her back before nudging her toward the family room. “Go and see Mommy, okay?”
Nabeelah focused on him as Frisco shut the door behind them. “Do you know why we’re here?”
He winced. His gaze dropped to the tile floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Sir, all of you are in danger from Los Jaguares” Frisco said. “Where’s the rest of your family?”
“In the back. We—”
“We’ve got company,” Warren reported.
Adrenaline shot through Nabeelah. “Number?”
“Four. Black Explorer. Guns in hand.”
“Take care of them. Fast.” Nabeelah focused on Patterson. “We can continue this later in a safer location. Where is your family?”
“Here.” A woman with long, sandy blonde hair held two boys against her.
“Where’s Jake?” Patterson asked.
“In his room.” The woman’s gaze slid between the two. “Who are you?”
“Lilly, it doesn’t matter.” Patterson flinched as a gunshot rocketed through the still afternoon. “Go get Jake.”
“What is—”
“We’ll talk later, ma’am,” Frisco said as he drew his gun.
Lilly blanched. “But—”
“Go!” Patterson gripped Vespa tighter.
His wife fled.
“Sit rep?” Nabeelah asked over the comms.
The sniper muttered something under his breath. “Got one before they keyed on me. Coming down now”
A living room window blew in.
Patterson jerked his daughter downward, and his boys huddled around them.
Nabeelah pictured the street layout. Another street ran behind them—if they could get over a fence and through the neighbor’s backyard. She flinched as the side windows to the door shattered from bullets. “Out the back. Now! Nesbitt, contingency plan.”
Patterson didn’t hesitate. He seemed to know what she had in mind.
Lilly screamed as the remaining windows on the front vanished in a hail of bullets. Behind the house, tires screeched.
“In place,” Nesbitt announced.
Patterson darted out the back door with his crying daughter. Frisco grabbed Lilly’s arm, and Nabeelah herded the three boys in front of her.
“Two more down,” Warren reported.
The front door blew open. Nabeelah dove toward the television. Bullets punched holes in the screen. She fired back. Nothing scored. The man’s gun clicked. Empty. She popped up to fire again. Jammed. Curse her gun failing when she needed it. A man charged her. She scrambled toward the kitchen and slammed into the island.
He leapt over the couch just as she stumbled to her feet.
They grappled and tumbled over the couch. Nabeelah groaned as she landed on her shoulder. Her right hook barely made an impact. Time to get out of there.
He caught her wrist. Screaming curse words at her, the man reared back for a punch.
Nabeelah ducked. As she rolled to her knees, she snatched a knife from her boot.
The man charged toward her.
She drove her knife into his belly.
He shrieked. His eyes widened, and he gaped at her as he fell to the floor.
She withdrew the blade. Shaking, she stared at him as his lifeblood ebbed away on Patterson’s Oriental carpet.
Her heart pounded.
Enrique Torres, Sal’s brother, lay before her.
Trembling overtook her. On her rump, she scrambled away from him but couldn’t find the strength to pull herself upright. Scenes from eight years ago flashed before her as she stared at Sergeant David covered in blood. She remained frozen to the floor.
“Nabeelah? Where are you?”
Frisco. She couldn’t move. Her shoulder began aching in earnest.
Strong arms lifted her to her feet. “C’mon. There’s no guarantee that more aren’t coming.”
They dashed out the back door. Her shoulder flared as she scrambled over the back fence. She landed in the neighbor’s flower bed. Somehow, she
made it upright and staggered to the street where the van waited.
With a deep breath, she jumped inside.
Patterson’s family huddled to one side. They collapsed on the other. Out of sight of those they’d rescued, he covered her hand with his.
Nabeelah jerked free. The better to focus her attention on those in front of her. “It seems to me, Mr. Patterson, that we have much to discuss.”
Sunday, April 23, 2017, 1745 hours MDT, Goblin Valley State Park, UT
“We’re too late.” Agony seared David’s soul as he stared through the open bay of the descending Black Hawk at the parking lot below. A pickup had parked at an odd angle, and a body steeped in blood lay beside it. Two other forms lay motionless on the pavement. Sal and company had already paid Goblin Valley State Park a visit.
They landed at the far end of the parking lot. He noted a Chevy Malibu and another car, a blue Ford Fusion. As the chopper’s rotor blades stilled, he approached the Malibu. Empty with the doors unlocked. The same with the Ford Fusion. He found a black backpack on the backseat. It was missing the cat key chain Abigail had used to identify it as hers.
Jonathan dug around in one of the front pockets. He lifted out a wallet. “Marti. Her ID’s in here.”
David faced the ranger’s pickup. “Smitty, what did you find?”
One of the pilots straightened from beside the pickup. “This guy must have been the only ranger on duty. He’s gone.”
Jonathan raked his hands through his hair and muttered under his breath.
“Two tangos down here,” Uhler reported.
Jonathan peered down at the valley of stone goblins. “But no Abigail.”
“Could she have escaped?” David asked.
“I don’t know. Uhler, you guys didn’t see anyone below when we circled, right?”
“Negative. Not a soul.”
“They got her,” David muttered. “We were too late.”
The radio in their Black Hawk crackled, and Smitty dashed to the cockpit. He waved them over. “Good news. Docek just radioed. Nabeelah called in. They got Patterson and his family.”
David’s heart tightened. “Alive, I hope.”
“And well.”
At least something had gone right.
A few yards away, Jonathan rested his hand on the ranger’s forehead and bowed his head. His lips moved in a silent prayer. Losing an innocent person stank in a big way.
Smitty continued, “They got Enrique Torres.”
“Alive?” Jonathan asked as he straightened.
“Dead. He tried to kill Nabeelah.”
He groaned. “There goes our one source of information.”
Something teased David’s mind. A grim smile broke through his features. “Maybe not.”
In the distance, sirens wailed as local emergency responders rushed toward the scene.
Jonathan joined the others at the chopper. “What?”
For the first time since his call to Nabeelah, hope spread through David. “Randleman. He’s got a tracker in him, right?”
“Yeah, but the last we saw of him, he was in Stone’s custody.”
Smitty cracked a smile. “I see where you’re going with that. Hold on.” He spoke into the chopper’s radio. “Docek, you still tracking that rat?”
The radio crackled. “Affirmative. Your boy is in Salt Lake City. Or was. He’s headed to Green River.”
“Want to bet the rat’s headed to his hole?” David asked.
“Maybe so.” Jonathan nodded. “Let’s hope and pray he’s going to see his real boss.” His smiled dimmed. “Because if he’s not, we’re SOL.”
David couldn’t have agreed more.
Sunday, April 23, 2017, 2100 hours EDT (1900 hours MDT), Raleigh, NC
Nick Bocelli stared at the jump drive laying on the dark granite of his kitchen island. Call, call! He stared at the microwave clock. 2100 hours. For good measure, he checked his watch as his grandfather clock bonged out the hour. A few seconds later, it turned over to one minute past the hour. Abigail had missed her check-in. Under normal circumstances, he might have shrugged it off and given her ten more minutes.
This wasn’t normal.
Not at all.
Oh, did he now know the treachery of her CO. Most likely, Sal Torres had taken her down. Nick slammed his hand onto the granite, then whirled away and paced around the island. You knew it was a trap. It had to be. Why else would he lure you all the way out to Utah? And why did you go? He braced his hands against the wall and hung his head.
Because it was her case. Or cases. And she trusted no one. Except for Marti, Gabe, and him.
Sure, he and Abigail had had their share of issues. Well, most of it, he’d generated by his philandering. But something over the years had changed in him. She would probably say he’d grown up. Maybe he had. And he’d missed his chance with her. She had the hots for David, was in love with him if she would slow down enough to recognize it.
But that didn’t mean Nick had stopped caring for her. They were colleagues, maybe even friends again at some point in the future. She was a resourceful person. She’d fight to stay alive. That, he was sure of. Yet he was also smart enough to know that even the smartest, toughest people could succumb to circumstances beyond their control. Hadn’t the Mighty Men been the best of the best? Shamal Khan’s men had still destroyed all but two, plus a whole village save for a teenaged girl.
He wasn’t going to let her hard work die, even if she did. With a small growl, he picked up his phone and punched in a number. Who cared if he interrupted bedtime preparations?
“General Ray Gardner,” a male voice said a moment later. “Who is this?”
Even though he’d been out of the Army for eight years, Nick stood ramrod straight. “Sir, this is Nick Bocelli. You were my CO in Germany, remember?”
“Oh, Nick! Hey.” The general’s bass voice boomed across the airwaves. “How are you? Where are you?”
“Police detective in Raleigh.” He endured the chitchat for a moment. “Sir, do you remember Abigail Ward?”
“Oh, yeah.” Again, the general’s voice lit up. “A go-getter, just like you. Didn’t you two marry?”
“Yes, sir. We split in ’09.” He drew in a breath. “She’s a major with CID in Quantico now, and I think she’s in trouble. Sir, she’s in a tough spot, and it involves her CO, who’s gone bad.”
Suddenly all business, the general said, “Give me the details.”
Nick did. His former CO listened and only interrupted to ask some questions. That brought back memories of his work in Germany. Precise, no fluff, to the point. Everything that had helped him achieve rank. Finally, the general asked, “Did she provide you with any information?”
“Yes, sir.” Nick took a deep breath. “I prefer not to transmit this via e-mail.”
“Understood. What’s your address? I’ll be there in an hour.”
Nick supplied it.
With that, the phone clicked off.
Nick began pacing and kept it up through two cigarettes and two cycles of the grandfather clock. The time out west? 2100 hours. Still nothing from Abigail. Not a good situation at all. He made another copy of the information and stashed it in his gun safe. Just in case Gardner wasn’t as trustworthy as Abigail had said.
Someone knocked on the door.
Nick touched the gun at the small of his back for reassurance. He checked the side window.
One general, all the way, and no aide.
Once he admitted his old CO, he again stood ramrod straight. “Sir, I apologize for ruining your evening.”
Gardner joined him in the kitchen and dropped a messenger bag on the granite island. “No apologies needed. Seems Major Ward’s in trouble, eh? Show me what you have.”
Nick stepped through the case as if he were briefing him back in the bad old days of their time together in Germany. He spoke like a pro and without notes since he’d had plenty of time to study Abigail’s work. An airtight case if he’d ever seen one.
Nick stepped to the window and contemplated the dark woods behind his townhouse.
Behind him, an unpleasant conversation began. “Colonel Hastings, this is General Ray Gardner at the Pentagon. I need you to draw up an arrest warrant for Lieutenant Colonel Salvador Torres... Yes, I know he’s in your brigade... No, he’s not as clean as you think, it seems... If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will... And Gabe Santos needs to be dispatched now to arrest Master Sergeant Nate Francis... Don’t argue with me! No, better yet, I’m relieving you of your command. I’ll be up there in an hour, and I expect you to be waiting for me in your office with Master Sergeant Francis in the brig.”
With that, he lowered his phone and pointed to the jump drive. “Mine to keep?”
“Yes, sir.” Nick didn’t bother to tell him he had a copy. He probably knew that. Score another for the man being legit. “Sir, do you know Sal Torres?”
“I know the name. A go-getter who wants to make general. Seems he was a little too ambitious, and now Abigail’s missing.” Gardner rubbed his chin as he shook his head. “I’m looking into this, and I’ll be dispatching people to Utah to locate her. We’ll find her. That much I promise. Thanks again.”
With that, he was gone.
Nick resumed his contemplation of the woods.
He earnestly hoped they’d find Abigail alive and well, because if she wasn’t, they’d be lucky to find her body.
32
Sunday, April 23, 2017, 2200 hours EDT (2000 hours MDT), Quantico, VA
Times like this, Gabe Santos hated his job. Pure and simple. Never had he expected to arrest the very one he’d trusted for the past few years. But the call from the colonel had brought him to CID headquarters. His orders had been clear.
“Arrest Master Sergeant Nate Francis. Now,” the colonel had said when he’d arrived. He slapped a warrant on his desk.
Dressed in ACUs, Gabe attached a tactical belt around his waist and added handcuffs. He nodded to the two privates who stood near the door. “Let’s go.”
This stank. So totally stank. Abigail should be doing this. Not him. But she was missing, possibly dead, in part thanks to the man whose name was spelled out in black and white on the warrant. That chilled any sympathy he might have felt for Francis.