He nodded again.
“One of the factions was likely part of ISO-1?”
He cocked his head to the side. This woman should be working for Army Intelligence.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said with a smile. “The other side was probably Russian or Ukrainian. Sometime during the buy, a woman appeared. Maybe she was here before and you didn’t notice, but either way, she started killing them,” she nodded over her shoulder to the line of bodies in black bags that looked like something out of a plane crash. “When it was all said and done, she vanished into thin air. Is that about right?”
“Close. She took someone with her. I think it was the leader of the ISO faction. We’re not sure since that isn’t why we were here. She also saved my life.”
Her eyebrow shot up and she smiled even bigger. “Oh good. Tell me, Bill, was our friend black with dreadlocks and a red scarf?”
“That’s the one. You know who she is, don’t you?”
Krisan nodded. “Tell you what, Army boy, you buy me a drink, and maybe dinner, and we can compare notes.”
Bill liked the sound of that.
Chapter 9
Vaas stormed through the room, his eyes searching for something to smash. The TV was the unfortunate target. He pulled it down from the wall and slammed it into the ground. The screen cracked and he stomped on it, over and over until it was in a hundred pieces.
“Feel better?” Miguel asked from behind him.
“Yes.” Ignoring the mess he had made, he went to his desk, opened the drawer and pulled out his secure cellphone. Only a handful of people had the number, including his high-level contacts—like the new District Attorney ISO had helped elect. He stared at the phone for a moment before dialing the DA.
Several rings later, Henry Williams, the city’s newest DA, answered. “I’m in the middle of something, call me—”
“I will talk to you now, puta. I own you, and don’t think for one second you have any say in this.” Normally, Vaas would have handled the man more delicately but today he was too furious. If Henry wanted to play power games, he would show the man what was what.
Several seconds of silence passed before Vaas heard Henry speak. “Yes, Mr. Mayor, I’ll get right back to you, sorry.” The phone on the other side clicked and Henry spoke to Vaas.
“You know you don’t have to threaten me; I’m on board with you guys. If you go down, I go down, and I don’t want that.”
Vaas ignored the man’s complaint. If he didn’t like it, tough. “Who was behind the raid and why didn’t you warn us about it,” he demanded. Vaas certainly wasn’t in the mood for this nonsense.
“I didn’t warn you because I didn’t know about it. The Army sent in a covert CID team. Technically they can do whatever they want but they’re supposed to contact us when operating in the city.”
Instead of appeasing him the information enraged him farther. “The Army? I lost good men on that raid. Shot dead in cold blood. That doesn’t sound like law enforcement. Was the Army behind what happened at the mansion?”
“No, of course not. It—”
“Shut up. If you want to stay in your cushy little position with your money, power, influence, and women, then you better start doing your job. We elected you. We can always find someone else.” Vaas slammed the cell phone down on the desk.
“Army, huh?” Manual said. “Don’t we have people in the Army who should have warned us about this?”
“How do you think we got our hands on that much C4? Of course we have people. Time to make some calls. I’ll talk to our point woman in the Army, you contact the council. Enough is enough. I want the Regulators up here.”
Miguel froze, his hand inches from his cell phone. “Uh, you sure man? That may not be the best move.”
Vaas waved his hand, dismissing the concern. “We’re up against something we haven’t seen before. This isn’t no Army cops or feds, this is more. It’s a rival gang and they are going to learn that we are the top dog here. Scour the streets; I want to know everyone and everything moving. Talk to the small gangs first. They tend to have their ears to the ground… What are you waiting for?”
Miguel nodded, turned and was on his cell phone before he was out the door.
Chapter 10
Peter was a fountain of information. He didn’t know what ISO wanted with the explosives, but he did have details on virtually every other operation in the city and a couple south of the border. There were two main parts to any of their operations: the drug smuggling into the US, and human trafficking out. According to Peter, and I believed him thanks to my uncanny powers, the drugs came in twice a month. They tried to pick days that weren’t obvious. This month it was the day before Thanksgiving. I guessed the thinking was everyone would be looking forward to the holiday and not paying attention.
Since they had succeeded in eluding authorities so far, I had to say they were probably right. But I wasn’t the authorities, was I? The tiny town of Jean Lafitte, population 2000, lies forty minutes south and west of New Orleans. Despite its relative proximity to the Big Easy, it’s like stepping into an old movie. White plantation style houses, narrow streets, vintage cars. Their only claim to fame is the rich guy who lived there, John Baptist, and his private airfield. Now Mr. Baptist currently was in the middle east, checking up on the progress of his film empire.
I would be investigating Mr. Baptist in the future. But at the time I was more interested in his private airfield. Of course, it wasn’t really an airfield; just a deep man-made lake, sitting on his thirty acres of private fenced-in property, patrolled by armed guards, dogs, and hi-tech security.
ISO-1 had their tricks. According to Peter, this one was to bring the drugs in via legitimate freighters then have their people raid the freighters during the night to “steal” the drugs and deliver them via skiff to the waiting seaplane, which would take off for a day of fishing the same morning and return with fish… after dropping the drugs here. It was clever and the authorities hadn’t caught on yet—or were turning a blind eye.
I sure wished people would do more of their illegal stuff during the night. These daytime meets were killing me. I guess that’s why Joseph trained me so hard; I couldn’t always rely on my powers. If I only had them, then I would have to wait for night to strike. As it was… well, I still struck at night when I had a choice.
I drove through the sleepy town with my windows up, listening to local talk radio. There’s a gentleman who does the crime beat and I hoped to find out who those guys were yesterday at the buy. Other than Army… of course.
“Welcome to AM 670, WYMYND, New Orleans, I’m your host, Carter Paul. Today we have a special, last minute guest. She showed up at our door an hour ago, and considering some of the awards she’s won for her crime coverage in Detroit, I couldn’t say no.”
No freaking way.
“Welcome Krisan Swahili, former star reporter of the Detroit Free Press, recently gone independent.”
I was dazed. Why would Krisan follow me here? I shook my head as I turned down the secondary road that led to where I wanted to go. The reception became a little spotty and I missed some of what she said.
“Well, to be honest,” I heard her soprano and I still couldn’t believe it was her. “I wasn’t making the kind of impact in Detroit I wanted to make. I looked around at the US and decided New Orleans had much more to offer,” she said in response to a question I hadn’t heard.
“Is that because of the rampant corruption and crime here in the city?” Carter Paul asked.
“Partially, though from what I can tell, Nawlins seems like a nice city.” I groan as she made the touristy mistake of using the fake nickname the city has. No one in New Orleans called it ‘Nawlins.’
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m investigating a nationwide crime syndicate—”
I slammed on the breaks, skidding in the dirt before turning up the volume. Don’t say it, don’t say it, please don’t say it!
&nbs
p; “Wow, nationwide? Have I heard of them?”
Don’t say it. I screamed in my head.
“They’re called ISO-1. I followed them here from Detroit, but I have accounts of their operations in New York, Arizona, Texas, California—pretty much any place with a port of entry. They tried to set up shop in Detroit but a mysterious vigilante known as the Wraith shut them down.”
I slammed my hand into the horn, letting it honk for a good long twenty seconds as I seethed in frustration and, yeah, a little anger. “Krisan, how could you?”
I pulled out my phone and looked up the number of the station, dialing it immediately. As soon as the operator picked up, I spoke. “I need to speak to Krisan Swahili, on air, immediately. It’s an emergency.” I needed to get her to shut up before she painted an even bigger target on her back.
“I’m sorry, you can’t just call in and…”
I switched to my Wraith voice, letting the reverberation really echo. “Tell her, it’s the Wraith from Detroit.”
The operator went silent for a moment then asked me to hold. I turned down my radio to keep the feedback to a minimum.
“You’re on the air with—”
“Tell me, Ms. Swahili, aren’t you worried that your blabbing the news of your investigation on the frigging radio might, MIGHT, jeopardize your life and the lives of other people who maybe don’t want your supposed criminal organization knowing about their existence?”
She was silent for a moment and I hoped to God she got the message. Maybe if I got her off the air fast enough, they would miss it.
“Well, I hadn’t, but I felt the need to get the story out there about this evil organization was important. Blow the lid on everything they’ve done, all the people they’ve killed… The people fought back in Detroit and look at it, we’re better off after they left.”
I had checked; crime was way down but that wouldn’t last. Without repeated applications of killing the bad people, more would move in. This, though. It’s just like her. She doesn’t think about anyone else, just her own ideals… not that I was much different, but I tried really hard not to put anyone else in danger through my actions.
“That’s very noble of you. I hope it doesn’t get you killed. You can’t always have a guardian angel.” I pressed the end button hard, wishing I could slam the phone down on the dash or something.
I sat there for ten minutes calming down. I was so mad at her I wanted to scream, and did, twice. After that passed, I did some deep breathing exercises and refocused my mind. What’s done is done. She can’t undo it, and neither can I. But I was still going to have to find her and have a serious talk with her she won’t like.
After a few more minutes I started the car and moved out, resisting the urge to gun the engine. These big cars were great in a straight line, but if I lost control there wouldn’t be any saving it. I’d watched enough fail videos of people losing traction and driving their car right into to a wall; I knew better.
The only hills in the area were artificial, made by Baptist when he bought the land. I supposed it was a way of keeping his activities private. Backroads went by his land at several places but all of those had heavier security: cameras, guards, dogs. No. I was going to have to park far away and hoof it in if I wanted to infiltrate unnoticed.
I drove for another half hour, keeping track of the time. I had three more hours until the plane was scheduled to arrive, putting it at late afternoon. Two miles away I found the perfect place to hide the car—a small copse of trees next to a little spring with a few picnic tables and a once green, run down gazebo. Perfect.
I parked, popped the trunk and loaded out. There was enough open land here that I could pass unnoticed if I needed to. I pulled off my leather jacket and strapped on a new bulletproof vest then a tactical vest over that. In each of the pouches, I loaded four magazines for the MOLOT Vepr 12 tactical, magazine fed, semi-automatic shotgun I had secured. Over the vest, I shrugged on an olive drab Army surplus jacket. With the shotgun slung on my back and the generic black baseball cap on my head, I would look like a hunter… from a distance. On my thighs, I strapped on an HK P30L with a weight compensator instead of a silencer (I didn’t think there was any going quiet about this one). Four extra 15-round mags for that as well. I stuffed two frag grenades in my side pockets and the oh-so-handy thermite grenade on the inside pocket. Two ka-bar tactical knives and my sword, and I was set.
I closed the trunk, beeped the car shut and stashed the keys under a rock twenty feet away, then jogged off. Flat out I could almost do a four-minute mile; loaded down with gear and running cautiously I covered the whole distance in twenty minutes. By the time I arrived at a point more than three miles from the road I was sweaty and breathing hard in the afternoon heat, but that was okay. Soon I wouldn’t feel any of it.
I used a tree to climb up and over the fence, careful not to touch any of the metal; there were several kinds of security wire that could detect a person’s touch. The fence stretched up almost fifteen feet. They’d trimmed the limbs on the tree so that none of them reached over the fence. I just had to go higher than I normally would have to clear it. I leaped, arcing over the fence and letting my shotgun fall one way as I hit the ground with a grunt, rolled, and came up to a knee, pistol out and clearing the area.
Nothing.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes my paranoia got the better of me. I slid the pistol home, retrieved the shotgun and took off. As I ran, I unfolded the scarf and wrapped it around my neck so I could easily pull it up if engaged. I really don’t want them putting a name to my face; I’d be a whole lot less scary if they knew who I was.
The trip from the fence to the landing area, aka the lake, wasn’t as fast. While I was pretty sure they didn’t have a lot of cameras on this part of the property, I wasn’t positive. I moved carefully, avoiding obvious sight lines and problematic areas where I couldn’t tell if there were cameras or not.
When I reached the edge of the lake I hunkered down behind a fallen log, scanning the far side for movement. The house in the distance was huge: seven stories, parapets, towers, it looked like something out of Downton Abbey—minus the armed security patrolling the balconies. Where do they find all these people, Bad-Guys-R-Us?
I kicked in my enhanced vision, bringing the far side into crystal clarity. It was almost as if I was there. I had to move my head slowly as even a small movement would blur my vision, like looking through a telescope. An aluminum dock stretched thirty feet into the water; two armed men were standing on it. One had a pair of binoculars and looked like he was searching the far side of the lake. He wasn’t looking at me, but he would soon. Which was unfortunate considering the complete lack of concealment along the lake. Besides the debris washed up on the shore that I hid behind, there wasn’t a whole lot. Some tall grass fifteen feet back, and a few scattered trees. The only thing that hid my approach was the built-up bank of the lake.
If I tried to circle the lake on the shore I’d be spotted in seconds. Same for swimming it; the water was calm enough that a fish splashing caused a noticeable ripple.
A loud rumbling reached my ears. I snapped out of my vision enhancement and waited, listening for a second… yeah, that was the seaplane. Flying a few hundred feet off the deck it cruised by right overhead. The main body looked like a boat, two wings protruded out with pontoons coming down. Each wing had a prop engine that roared in the air.
Well, whatever I was going to do, I needed to do it now.
Chapter 11
Icouldn’t run or swim, and without a dark shadow teleporting was out. That left me with falling back and waiting.
No. Not going to do that. However…
I watched as the plane circled again, probably making sure the water was safe. I imagined that hitting debris while landing could be devastating. Perhaps enough to delay their departure and focus everyone’s attention elsewhere while a certain Wraith made her way to the dock, using the seaplane as cover while she moved through the water.
<
br /> I liked that plan. It was just hot enough that a little dip in the water was called for.
I had two different rounds for my semi-auto shotgun: traditional buckshot and jacketed hyper velocity sabot rounds. I only had the one mag of the sabot because it wasn’t as useful; great for taking out the guy behind the guy, but not as effective a man-stopper as the buckshot. Even if they were wearing a vest it would still knock them down long enough for me to finish them off.
The plane circled one more time before coming down to land. In my experience, planes were loudest when they took off and when they landed; I just had to wait. I loaded in the sabot rounds, racked one in, and rested the barrel against the side of the log to minimize visibility.
The plane turned, heading for the water coming in from the right and passing perpendicular to my location. It wasn’t the best angle, but I could make it work. The plane was going maybe a hundred miles an hour as it came in. Regardless of the target’s speed, it didn’t really change how far I needed to lead it. I was only going to have one shot at this… literally and figuratively.
I looked down the sights, controlling my breathing to a nice steady, predictable rhythm. The engines roared as the plane goosed the power and I held my breath at the same instant. When the target passed in front of my sights I adjusted and squeezed the trigger, letting my breath out in a silent count of five. On three the shotgun banged.
The plane bucked and the engine spewed fire and oil as it hit the water in the same instant. The pilot did a fantastic job of keeping control and brought it to a slow crawl toward the docks. The left side engine shuddered to a stop and the other one took over, limping the plane to a halt.
I crouched low as I moved down the bank into the water, slow enough that I didn’t draw anyone’s eye, but fast enough that they would have to be extremely lucky to see me.
Swimming slowly over long distances can be tricky, but I trained for this. Rolling on to my back I let my natural buoyancy carry me while I fluttered my arms under the water to keep me moving in the right direction. The danger zone was the first few minutes it took for me to angle the seaplane between me and the mass of armed guards. After that, it was worrying about the noise. Lucky for me, I’m pretty quiet.
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