Devil's Advocate (Trackdown Book 4)

by Michael A. Black

  “That guy moves pretty good,” McNamara said. “For a big man.”

  They watched as the guy moved with agility and grace through the various positions, taking cover and shooting with a controlled elegance. Wolf had noticed him during their easy-does-it physical training session earlier that morning. He had huge arms with bulging muscles that resembled interwoven steel cables. The man’s hands were exceptionally large. When they’d stopped to do push-ups during their run, he did his with one arm, but Wolf didn’t get the feeling the guy was showing off. He stayed at the back of the group, so it was more like he was testing himself.

  “Shit, you got that right,” Buck said. “He’s almost making it look too easy.”

  Barnes was holding the stopwatch and clicked it as the shooter delivered his final series of shots. His dark eyebrows rose in a silent acknowledgment.

  “Beat your time by two seconds, Steve,” Barnes said.

  “Don’t mean nothing till the shots get counted,” McNamara said.

  “Well, let’s see,” Pete said as he swung his artificial leg outward and began the trek to the end of the range. Wolf marveled at how well Pete got around. He’d participated in the slow, formation PT run that they’d done shortly after the opening welcome that morning. Moreover, his attitude seemed great but Wolf wondered if the same demons that haunted his dreams visited Pete Thornton’s as well.

  It was hard to know who would come calling in those wee hours when it was just you and the darkness and your memories.

  He thought about Garfield again.

  Downrange, the big guy holstered his weapon and touched his left wrist before he began walking back toward them, not even bothering to check his hits. He paused to retrieve the fallen magazine, which he’d dropped after his combat reload and re-inserted it into his mag holder.

  “Looks pretty sure of himself,” Wolf said.

  “What’s that guy’s name again?” McNamara asked.

  “Dirk,” Buck said. “Cameron Dirk, But he don’t like to be called by his first name. ‘Just Dirk,’ he told me. Late comer. Just signed up yesterday.”

  “Where’s he work?” Wolf asked.

  “He’s not at the moment,” Buck said. “Told me he was with a couple of PMC’s over in Iraq and Afghanistan and did pretty well, but with all the troop reductions he came home. Wants to start his own security company.”

  Dirk walked up to them now and Wolf nodded and smiled.

  “Nice going.” He noticed a fancy watch on the man’s left wrist.

  That must have been that last movement I saw, Wolf thought. He was timing himself.

  “Thanks,” Dirk said. “But I had the advantage of watching you guys go first.”

  Pete let out a yell from downrange and then cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Perfect score,” he yelled. “Didn’t miss none, all center mass and head shots.”

  “Head shots?” Buck said, extending his hand toward Dirk. “You had the best time, too, so that makes you top dog. Congratulations.”

  Dirk shook Buck’s hand and then Mac’s and Wolf’s.

  “Pretty impressive.” Wolf extended his open palm as well. “Nice shooting.”

  Dirk shrugged. “Like I said, I just followed your lead.”

  Up close and personal, Wolf noticed two things: the man’s hand had crusty, solid ridges of calluses over the huge, bulbous knuckles and along the edge of the palm. He also had strange, offsetting eyes, one blue and one brown. It gave his gaze an unsettling quality.

  “And these targets ain’t shooting back,” McNamara said.

  Dirk smiled. “True enough. You moved pretty good, too. Bet you’ve been in your share of fire-fights.”

  McNamara nodded and gestured toward Wolf. “We both have. Army. You?”

  “SEALs.”

  McNamara raised his eyebrows. “Good outfit.”

  “The best,” Dirk said.

  “Well, for the navy anyway,” McNamara said. “See any action?”

  “Plenty,” Dirk said. “I enlisted right after nine-eleven. Hit the ground running in Iraq, Afghanistan, and a bunch of other shitholes around the globe. Finally, decided I’d had enough of going places I didn’t want to go and went private.”

  “A PMC?” Wolf asked. “Which one?”

  Dirk shook his head. “Probably one you never heard of. Called the Suda Americanos Vistas. We operated in South America doing security and bodyguard work mostly for corporate executives living down there.”

  Wolf had never heard of them but he didn’t doubt the man’s credentials. The SEALs were tops. The time frame put Dirk in his late thirties, which appeared about right.

  The others came over to offer their praise of Dirk as well.

  “This concludes this morning’s range festivities,” Buck said. “Everybody report to the main classroom for a debrief and evaluation, and then we’ll eat lunch.”

  Wolf and McNamara let the others filter on ahead of them. Dirk eyed them and then fell into place at the end of the group.

  “Perfect score and the fastest time,” McNamara said, watching him go. “I figured you had that one sewn up.”

  “Win some, lose some,” Wolf said. There was something about Dirk that bothered him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. The guy was very capable and seemed self-effacing, without a hint of braggadocio. Just the kind of guy you’d want on your side when your back was against the wall.

  And yet …

  After lunch the rest of the day’s training went pretty much as expected. They did a classroom session on movement techniques, finding cover, and the difference between cover and concealment. Buck had a big flatscreen TV to show numerous real-life incidents that had either gone real good or real bad.

  “The bad ones are the most informative,” he said. “It’s important to learn from other’s mistakes.”

  “You want to make your mistakes here,” Barnes added. “In training, so you don’t make them out there.”

  Movement practices and room and building searches followed. These were all done with rubber blue guns, but Buck mentioned that a Simunitions training session would be down the road.

  “I’ll look forward to that,” McNamara said.

  Wolf wondered if Mac was being facetious. Having practiced with those Simunition rounds before, Wolf knew it didn’t hurt as much as being shot, but getting hit certainly wasn’t a pleasant experience.

  I guess the best thing is to not get hit, he thought. Just like in combat.

  And so it went, with the day’s training concluding at sixteen-forty-five. They all went back to the main office to retrieve their cell phones and car keys.

  Wolf and Mac had rented rooms with the rest of the course attendees at a hotel in Mesa, at Buck’s insistence. To develop camaraderie they were all to meet for dinner every night at eighteen thirty. This emphasized team dynamics, which was a big part of the course.

  “A team will always beat a group of individuals,” Buck had said in his opening lecture. “No matter how talented.”

  To this end, he had everyone place their cell phone in a plastic basket in the office so the training would be uninterrupted by personal business.

  “You’ll get them back at the end of each day,” Buck said. “And then we’ll all go to dinner together, which I’ve arranged and paid for.”

  After getting his cell phone back and checking for messages, Wolf saw that he had three missed calls from Manny. McNamara had five, along with a couple of texts.

  “Wonder what the hell this is all about?” McNamara said, scrolling down the list.

  “You going to call him?” Wolf asked.

  “Yeah, might as well,” he said, pressing the redial button. He placed the phone to his ear and waited. After a few seconds he shrugged and terminated the call. “Went right to voice mail. Guess it can’t be too important.”

  Wolf didn’t check his and pocketed his cell as he told McNamara that he needed to skip the dinner and go back to Phoenix.

  “Huh?”
Mac said. “What for?”

  “I need to go check at Garfield’s shop for the bandito,” he said. “The cops are probably finished with the crime scene investigation there by now.”

  He wanted that extra edge that having another duplicate would give him, and he also wanted to convey his condolences to Ollie. He hoped that poor Garfield hadn’t suffered too much and hoped Redpath would be able to track down the son of a bitch who did it. Wolf made a mental note to check on that as well.

  “Yeah,” McNamara said. “I guess we should go there and pay our respects to Ollie. Damn shame about him. I had Reno call his brother. Apparently, somebody beat the poor guy to death. It wasn’t a pretty scene.”

  This made Wolf feel all the more worse. “Death never is.”

  “Damn straight,” McNamara said. “Why is it the weak and innocent always suffer the most?”

  Wolf had no reply to that. They stood in silence for several seconds, and then Wolf said, “We can see Ollie at the funeral. No sense on both of us missing dinner. We paid for it in the course fee, and if you want Buck to take you on as an instructor you should get with the program.”

  “I was thinking he’d take us on as instructors.” McNamara’s brow furrowed. “Unless you’re not interested in doing that, but keep in mind this bounty hunting business might just be on its last legs.”

  Wolf grinned. Mac was still looking out for him. “We’ll talk about it later, okay? Now, if you could just give me the keys to the Escalade, I’ll drop you off at the hotel and be back in no time.”

  McNamara dug his hand into the pocket of his cargo pants and withdrew the keys.

  “Here you go,” he said. “Son.”

  Wolf’s grin widened, and he was doubly glad that Kasey hadn’t been around to hear her father’s joking dispensation.

  Wolf noticed Dirk staring at them and when their eyes met Dirk smiled and turned away.

  As they got into the Escalade Buck came running over to them and waved. Wolf started the vehicle and lowered the window.

  “Well,” Buck said. “Whatcha think?”

  “Went pretty well,” Wolf said. “I learned a lot.”

  He was exaggerating, of course, but didn’t want to tell Buck that. He seemed to know it, however.

  “Don’t try to bullshit the bullshitter,” Buck said. “I know it was probably all a review for you.”

  “Oh, I’ve been out of practice for a while,” Wolf said.

  “You shot pretty damn good,” Buck said. “For a guy that’s out of practice.”

  Wolf thought about the series of gun battles he’d been in over the past few months—actually more than he’d had on his last deployment.

  “If it wasn’t for that Dirk fella,” Buck continued, “you’d be top dog.”

  “Top dog in training’s one thing,” McNamara said. “Being there for real’s a whole ’nother.”

  Buck laughed.

  Wolf momentarily wondered about Dirk. He’d move with such alacrity that it gave the impression he’d been there as well and not that long ago.

  “See you at dinner,” Buck said, leaning forward slightly. “And just to give you a heads-up, I’ll be having weapon’s inspection in the morning, so make sure your weapons are clean and your powder’s dry.”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” McNamara said.

  Buck grinned again and slapped the door before walking away.

  “He asked me again privately if we’d be interested in investing in this little venture,” McNamara said. “So think about—”

  His cell phone chimed, and he glanced at the screen and smirked.

  “Manny,” he said before answering.

  Wolf heard what sounded like a muted, but frantic, litany coming from the speaker after Mac had pressed the button. McNamara kept issuing grunts of acknowledgment and his head jerking up and down. After a couple more minutes he emitted a final grunt and said, “Okay, we’ll meet you over there in about twenty minutes.”

  After terminating the call he looked over at Wolf.

  “Looks like I’ll be going with you after all,” he said.

  “Trouble?” Wolf asked.

  McNamara nodded and swore.

  “Glory’s gone.”

  THE GRAND TETONS HOTEL

  PHOENIX, ARIZONA

  Soraces had just finished practicing another variation of his backhand blade toss. The ninja pen stiletto had hit the exact target that he’d set up: an apple he’d grabbed from the fruit bowl in the lobby. He’d placed it on top of the small refrigerator. The sharp pointed end sunk into the meaty part of the fruit and it pleased him. Not only had it hit exactly where he’d aimed it, he’d managed to complete the withdrawal of the blade, the cocking back of his arm, and the throw in little over a second. He was getting faster and more accurate every time.

  The chimes of his cell phone jolted him out of the reverie. It was Dirk.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I’m at the hotel in Mesa,” Dirk said. “We were all supposed to have dinner together but Wolf and McNamara pulled out. Something came up and they’re heading back to Phoenix.”

  “Something came up?”

  “Yeah. I overheard them saying something about having to go see some guy named Manny regarding an emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  “Don’t know. I’m outside in the lot still. Want me to skip the dinner and follow them? That maroon Escalade stands out like an overripe tomato.”

  Soraces considered this, then decided having Dirk do the tail would be too risky. This could be something, or it could be nothing, but either way, he had too many pieces in place to risk exposing his overall strategy. It was like a chess match. The shadows were his king and queen’s knights and Dirk his rook. Well, maybe a queen would be more appropriate for his designation, not that he’d dare call him that to his face, but it was the most powerful piece on the board. “No, go ahead and stay with the group. Ask Buck if he knows why they aren’t there and see what he says. I’ll have Clyde pick them up. They took I-Ten, I take it?”

  “Looks that way. They just left a couple of minutes ago.”

  “Okay.” Soraces looked at his watch. It was two minutes after five. The drive from Mesa to Phoenix was about twenty minutes or so, and Manny had to be that bail bondsman, Emanuel Sutter. Clyde knew the address.

  If that was where they were going … Have to factor in the possibility of another destination … Again, not a significant problem. Clyde had changed cars from the once-spotted black Dodge Charger and was now driving an Avalon with tinted windows. It should be a snap for him to pick them up once he accessed the tracker information.”

  “How did the class go?” Soraces asked.

  “Pretty much a cake walk. But it did give me a chance to get a closer look at our quarry.”

  “And?”

  “Both competent, although McNamara is starting to show his age a bit. Wolf’s good, but definitely B-team material. I can take him easy. You just say when.”

  “It’s not about taking him,” Soraces said. “It’s about recovering an item, a very valuable item, that only Wolf knows the whereabouts of. It requires a bit of delicate planning and execution.”

  “So we grab him and force him to talk. What’s so delicate about that?”

  “There’s no guarantee it would work,” Soraces said. “I told you, he’s tough and he’s smart.”

  “I could make him talk.”

  “And we’d then have a mess on our hands to clean up. Our employer wants this handled with finesse. Brute force has failed before. Twice before.” Soraces was mentally assessing the situation, shifting and arranging the pieces in his mind as he spoke. “Ideally, we need a way for him to bring us the item on neutral ground of our choosing, or better yet, totally on our turf.”

  When Dirk didn’t reply, Soraces added, “Patience is a virtue. I’ve got this pretty much planned out a certain way. One that will ensure success and cover our tracks.”

  “If you say
so.” Dirk’s voice had a hint of sarcasm in it.

  Soraces didn’t care for that, but he also knew it was in the big man’s character to be a bit overbearing—a typical characteristic of the ultimate alpha male.

  “Did you plant that GPS tracker on their car?”

  “Yes, mother.” Dirk said, his tone laced with sarcasm. “But like I told you, I think we’re wasting our time.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Soraces said. “And don’t underestimate them. Especially Wolf. A lot of competent men have regretted taking him too lightly recently.”

  “I never take anybody lightly,” Dirk said, the sarcastic lilt growing more prominent. “Not until I’ve finished grinding their face into the dirt with the heel of my boot.”

  Alpha male on a leash, Soraces thought. This was going to be fun to watch play out.

  RYLAND RESIDENCE

  PHOENIX, ARIZONA

  It had all the earmarks of a bizarre family reunion, and then some. Wolf and McNamara had arrived at the residence to find Mr. and Mrs. Ryland, Freddie, Manny, Reno Garth, and another man in a suit who looked like a cop, along with a uniformed officer. Freddie met them at the front door and Wolf noticed the plastic frame of his glasses had been broken in the center and taped together with white medical tape like some fugitive from one of those old nerd movies. The left lens had a horizontal crack running through it. The side of his face was swollen and showed traces of a purple bruising and his lower lip was twice its normal size.

  “Those assholes do that to you?” McNamara asked, pausing to check Freddie’s injuries.

  He nodded.

  “Looks like you went down fighting,” McNamara said. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. They jumped us at a rest stop. Took Glory. Smashed our cell phones and punctured our tires.” The inside of his lip had a line of dark stitching.

  “Manny called Reno when we couldn’t get ahold of youse,” Freddy said.

  “He brought his brother over here,” Freddie said. “He’s a police detective.”

  Wolf had figured as much. Besides the marked and unmarked squad cars parked in front of the residence, he’d also seen Reno’s unmistakable black Hummer.