Steel Force

by Geoffrey Saign

  Flaut lifted the rope. “But first I should tell you the penalties for wrong answers. Christie has her hands tied behind her back, and she’s worked very hard for some time before you arrived to keep her head above water.” He smiled. “If you don’t answer a question truthfully, I’ll have to punish her.”

  Steel saw the desperation in Christie’s eyes. “Who do you work for?” he asked.

  Flaut pushed Christie under water. “Only talk if spoken to. Understand?”

  Steel remained silent, focused on the water above Christie’s submerged head.

  Flaut repeated, “Understand?”

  “Yes.” His hand tightened on the rock as he waited for Christie’s face to reappear.

  Flaut allowed her back up. Her gasp for air sounded painful.

  Steel saw fear in her eyes.

  Flaut shrugged. “Actually I’ve worked for Torr and Danker, but most recently I’ve been working for myself to tie up some loose ends. I think I’m as tired as you are of following orders.” He paused. “This is pleasure.”

  Steel stared at Flaut. For the first time in many years fear bubbled to the surface, through his guard, spreading out into his stiffening limbs. Not fear for himself, but for Christie. She didn’t deserve to die like this, to have her life wasted for Flaut’s amusement.

  Flaut continued. “Here’s what I want to know first. How does it feel to be in this cave, when you haven’t been in it since you lost your daughter?”

  He swallowed. “Empty.”

  “Does it bring back good memories of you and your daughter?”

  “Go to hell,” gasped Christie, fighting to stay above the water.

  Flaut pushed her down, looking at Steel. “Beg me to let her back up.”

  “Please.” There was a dark swirl of eddies. Steel’s grip on the rock tightened. “Please,” he said louder.

  Flaut eased his feet off her shoulders, and Christie’s head exploded out of the water. She coughed harder this time, struggling to regain her breath.

  “She’s a tough one, Steel, isn’t she? Anyway, I hope you appreciate the setting for our rendezvous. I’ve admired you for some time. You probably didn’t know Danker had me on every Blackhood Op you participated in, except Hellfire and Serpent. I was the one who questioned you after Hellfire.”

  Steel remembered the cold manner of the man who had interrogated him after the Hellfire Op.

  Flaut flashed another smile, toying with Christie’s cheeks with his toes. “Actually, Steel, I’m just following Danker’s orders. You, Christie, Torr, and Sotelo were the targets of the last Blackhood Op Danker ran. Torr paid for it and offered me more money to kill Sorenson and Danker.”

  He set the Walther down and held the line around Christie’s neck with both hands. “Do you want to know what the Op was called?”

  Steel concentrated on Christie, meeting her gaze. He almost didn’t realize Flaut was waiting for a reply until the man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  “Dragon. I seriously doubt there will be Blackhood Ops for some time to come, so this one is special in a way, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” His chest heaved, his eyes still on Christie. There was something forlorn in her expression and he wanted to sweep it away. But he couldn’t see a way out of this. He felt helpless before Flaut, like Tom and Janet Bellue, Rusack, Danker, Sorenson, and he guessed a long line of others. Flaut always had the upper hand going in. It was how he operated. The man didn’t make mistakes or make himself vulnerable.

  Rage erupted deep inside him for the swath of destruction Flaut had cut through so many lives. And he hadn’t forgotten the promise he had made to Janet Bellue. There had to be a way.

  He estimated the distance to Flaut. Ten yards. Ten strokes. Flaut would shoot him and Christie before he was halfway across.

  “You’re an expert at torture,” he said.

  Flaut sat back, his feet stiff on Christie’s shoulders. Then he nodded and relaxed his legs. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Steel, so I’ll let it pass.” He paused. “I killed the man who shot your dog—I was coming to check out your virtual reality system and found him instead. I have a dog myself so I know how it must have felt. Does that make you feel better?”

  “No.”

  “It wouldn’t help me either.”

  Steel flicked his gaze from Christie to Flaut, desperately running through strategies.

  “Now we come to the central issue.” Flaut’s hands tightened on the rope around Christie’s neck. He gave a little jerk and she coughed, barely able to keep her mouth above water. “What exactly happened on the Serpent Op? I listened to you in the debriefing. Your story was believable, but I have experience with these sorts of things. I know you lied. I knew you lied to me after the Hellfire Op too, but we’ll let that go.”

  Steel’s arm grew rigid.

  Flaut’s face sharpened with eagerness as he leaned forward. “What happened to Alvarez and his woman, Marita?” He gave another jerk on Christie’s noose, which tightened further, making her cough and choke for air. “The truth, Steel. Did Alvarez try to kill you?”

  He held Christie’s eyes. “No.”

  Flaut looked at him carefully. “What was it? You untied Alvarez, told him to run for it?”

  He couldn’t answer. The image of Marita floated in front of his eyes again.

  Flaut straightened his legs.

  Steel said softly, “I cut him loose and injured him.”

  Flaut relaxed his legs. “Then you killed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Steel glared at Flaut. “I was hurt. He posed a risk.”

  Flaut smiled. “How did you kill him?”

  “A knife.”

  “In the back?” asked Flaut.

  “Yes.” Steel saw that Flaut reveled in the details.

  “Up close?”

  “Yes.”

  Flaut paused. “What’s the real reason you killed him?”

  “Security.” Steel could hear Christie's fatigue in her gasping breaths, but he knew Flaut wouldn't be rushed.

  “You didn’t trust his thirst for revenge?” Flaut said it more as a statement than a question.

  “Yes.”

  Flaut looked at him hard. “You killed him because you had to.”

  “Yes.”

  Flaut nodded slowly. “And Marita told you she was the DEA informant.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  Steel swallowed. “Not at first.”

  Flaut leaned forward. “Why didn’t you bring her back?”

  “I couldn’t find her.”

  Flaut considered his answer. “She ran while you hunted Alvarez.”

  “Yes.” Steel’s words were mechanical.

  Christie jerked her chin slightly to the left.

  “She was scared you were going to kill her too,” said Flaut.

  “Yes.” His voice was a whisper.

  Christie jerked her chin left again, her eyes rolling to the left too.

  “Why?” asked Flaut.

  Steel spoke softly, sorrow filling his words. “Before I injured Alvarez, I was delirious. Alvarez believed I was going to kill both of them. Marita didn’t trust me.”

  “But you went after her?” Flaut sounded eager.

  “Yes.”

  Flaut’s eyes shone. “Called for her in the jungle while she hid from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you say?”

  Steel hesitated. “You’re safe.”

  “Over and over again?”

  The memory made Steel feel empty. “Yes.”

  “And she didn’t believe you.”

  “No.”

  “Beautiful.” Flaut smiled, his eyes bright with satisfaction.

  Steel fe
lt naked, stripped in front of this man. Intuitively he also knew Flaut had extracted what he wanted from him. Their time was up. Beneath the water he braced the soles of his feet against the wall. Ready.

  Christie jerked her left shoulder back. Flaut’s foot slipped forward, and she twisted her head and sank her teeth into his toes, and then allowed herself to sink below the water.

  Steel pushed off.

  Flaut screamed as Christie’s weight pulled him off the ledge. He kicked at Christie with his free foot, while he reached for the Walther.

  Steel estimated the distance that separated himself from Flaut. Too far.

  Flaut grabbed the Walther.

  Steel dove. The lantern’s light reflected on the water above him. He didn’t see Christie. But as he neared the ledge he saw a pale foot slide up out of the water, another leg drawing up after it.

  Grabbing Flaut’s ankle, Steel braced his feet against the ledge, still under the water, and pushed against the rock. His head and shoulders splashed free of the surface.

  Flaut tried to swing the Walther, firing before he could aim it. The explosion echoed in the cave. Steel shoved them both off and Flaut crashed into his arms.

  Wrapping himself around Flaut, Steel sucked in air and pulled him down. Flaut struck his head with the Walther and tried to turn the barrel in against him. Frantic, Steel used one of his arms to block the gun.

  Flaut banged his forehead into Steel’s sternum, driving air from his lungs.

  They thrashed with each other just below the surface. Steel’s lungs ached, while Flaut writhed with wild, jerking movements to get free.

  Flaut’s face appeared in front of him. Steel jammed his forehead into it. He couldn’t hang on any longer and let go. Kicking his feet, he drove his head out of the water where he gasped for air, cold liquid splashing around his shoulders.

  Flaut came up in front of him, the Walther first—already aimed. Steel weakly grabbed Flaut’s gun wrist with both hands and twisted his body.

  Another deafening shot rang out, echoing off the ceiling and walls.

  Steel kicked at Flaut’s midsection with his injured leg. Pain shot up to his hip. Water poured into his mouth, but he still clung to Flaut’s gun arm.

  Flaut kicked out, using his free arm to strike Steel’s face. The blow glanced off Steel’s cheek, but one of Flaut’s feet caught his ribs.

  Gasping, Steel released Flaut’s arm and kicked himself forward, driving a forearm into Flaut’s face.

  Flaut coughed for air, laid back, and brought his own legs up to kick at Steel, swinging the Walther toward him again.

  Steel kicked forward again and drove rigid fingertips into Flaut’s eyes.

  Flaut cried out and dropped the Walther, his hands jerking to his face. Steel struck him again, twice in succession in the front of the neck with a rigid hand, crushing his larynx.

  Limp, arms outstretched, Flaut sank.

  Steel treaded water, his lungs desperate for air, his legs and arms aching. But something even more crucial than his survival prompted him to swallow what air he could and dive.

  His hands groped in the cold darkness while his aching lungs screamed for oxygen. He found her crumpled like a fetus on the bottom. It took all his strength to drag her up to the surface.

  Gasping, he hung onto the ledge. Everything hurt as he pulled himself up onto it, still holding the rope tied to her neck.

  His chest heaved as he lifted her out of the water by her shoulders. She was lifeless as he undid the rope around her neck and rolled her onto her side. Lifeless as he tried to empty water from her lungs. Lifeless as he began CPR.

  Her skin was cold and clammy, her eyes closed. He wasn’t sure if Flaut had broken her neck with his kicks, and he had the desperate feeling that he was too late again. Too late for Janet Bellue and John Grove. Too late for Rachel. The wrong decisions at the wrong time. Carol. Marita. Christie.

  His lungs heaved. Again he rolled her onto her side to see if more water would come out, and then continued. Please. Not too late.

  The time for possible revival seemed too long. Brain damage. A flood of grief made him shudder. The thought of losing her crystallized all of his uncertainties, doubts, and concerns about her, stripping them away. He was surprised by what was left.

  He wasn’t conscious of the cold water that dripped down his body or the pain in his arm, leg, and lungs. He was only aware of the silence, broken by his hurried gasps, and his thoughts that he was too late.

  And then she breathed.

  CHAPTER 91

  The president and Hulm smiled at each other, though Hulm knew it wouldn’t last. Still he hoisted his glass of champagne in the cabin of Air Force One and clinked it with the president’s.

  “We got the bastard.” The president’s gaze rested on Hulm. “You’re sure we got all the recordings? Really sure?”

  Hulm smiled. The president had asked the same question fifty times already. “If Torr had another hidey-hole, it would have to be on a different planet. Our mole got us access to everything. Bank accounts—secret and otherwise—dummy corporations, everything the man has ever touched in fifteen years. Like I said, we found the recordings in one safe deposit box, in one bank, which Torr had under an assumed name in New York. It’s over, we’re free.”

  The president beamed. “I’ve been liberated from jail and the warden is dead. You’ve done well, Hulm.”

  Hulm didn’t trust the president’s smile. The man would get rid of him if he could in the near future. Hulm had no leverage on him.

  There was a knock on the cabin door.

  The president ignored it so Hulm asked, “What is it?”

  “The vice president sent an urgent message for the president.”

  “Bring it in.” The president rolled his eyes. “It’s about a bill in Congress we’re backing.”

  The aide walked in, looking bright and efficient in his blue suit. He handed an envelope to the president and left quietly, closing the door behind him.

  The president opened the envelope and read the printed message with silent, moving lips. His face paled.

  Hulm’s stomach took a dive. “What is it?” He tried to keep his voice even.

  “Oh, nothing,” the president said quietly. “The vice president says he got a call from our press secretary, who got a call from a man by the name of Rich Plugh, a lawyer for some environmental groups, who says he recently received an email from the mother of one Colonel Danker. The email had an attachment, a report that Danker’s mother has on a flash drive which her son sent to her.

  “Apparently the email attachment is an audit report from some due diligence work performed on the Paragon missile project, and it has some interesting names in it. Plugh says he wants to know if we have any comments, since the report is going to be discussed in the next New York Times’ issue, which,” the president checked his watch, “will be on the sidewalks and online in a few minutes.” He lifted his head. “Do we have any comments?”

  Hulm had to duck the president’s champagne glass.

  CHAPTER 92

  Steel wore a Greensave green baseball cap, jeans, and a green flannel shirt. Sitting atop the cliff seventy-five feet above the beach, he lifted the binoculars and scanned the crowd below. He estimated a hundred thousand, with another one billion television viewers.

  The bright sun shone down on San Diego’s North Pacific Beach. The sky was clear, the air pleasantly warm, the sand white, and the blue waves nicely sedated.

  He traded the binoculars for the G28 sniper rifle lying in the grass beside him, resting the camouflage green and brown rifle across his bent knees.

  The speaker system on the beach carried up the last of Francis Sotelo’s words to him.

  “We must treat each other and all of God’s creatures as our brothers, sisters, and children, and take care of them with equal love by our actions.
Otherwise what we are doing is choosing who to love and who not to love. And that isn’t love at all. Love all creation as you love yourself. Love everyone as your family. Then we can save it all.”

  The friar stood behind a thick, plexiglass bullet-proof shield that protected him on three sides. He waved to everyone, turned one-hundred-eighty degrees, and walked away from the cameras and down the beach to the water’s edge. There he was assisted into the black and white thirty-five-foot Chaparral Signature cruiser, which took him and his protection contingent a short distance offshore.

  Francis moved to the bow of the boat, which gently bobbed up and down, his arms raised. The sun shone on him like a bright spotlight as scores of seagulls descended around him in a blanket of white. Dolphins leapt out of the water near the bow of the boat.

  Voices and movement faded from the crowd on shore until only silence remained.

  It was a surreal sight that held the promise of something beautiful and new, full of peace. Steel felt its effects deep within his spirit even as he sighted on the friar.

  He shifted the rifle slightly to check on the four alert bodyguards in the boat, their weapons ready. Next he swung the rifle ninety degrees to the left, and one-eighty right, sighting on the other two men with rifles to make sure all were alert. Then he began to scan the crowd.

  His phone rang and he answered, speaking into his Bluetooth.

  “All clear, boss,” came the voice.

  “The name’s Jack, Harry.”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  Steel smiled. “Very funny. You have your sister’s sense of humor, Harry.”

  “Nah, she stole it from me. And for the record, I’m happy for both of you.”

  “Thanks, Harry. All right, make sure we have Francis’ exit locked down. I’m leaving now.”

  “Okay, Jack.”

  A sigh of relief escaped his lips. Every event posed different risks and unknowns, but Christie again had planned things perfectly. Helicopter Francis in, boat ride out, meet him in the Jeep away from the crowd. The San Diego police had cleared the cliffs above the beach for the event, and the beach was cleared of all activity today except for Francis’ visit.