THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  Eli wasn’t wasting any time.

  “He said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Later this afternoon. Exact words,” said Alex.

  “Exact words. Are you gonna kill me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he said, watching the man’s eyes tear up. “Do you have a way to get in touch with Eli?”

  “Handheld channel 11, subcode 33. If he asks you to jump stations, go to channel 14, subcode 21.”

  Evans wrote the codes on the top of his wrist with a black marker. “Got it.”

  “Is there anyone left in the house?”

  “I don’t know. Ron had the drum-fed AR. He stayed behind to cover us.”

  “I think it’s safe to say Ron is out of the picture. How many more?”

  “Five.”

  “You better hope the math works out,” said Alex, pressing the barrel against the man’s left eye. “We should have four bodies, Staff Sergeant. I see one to the left of this SUV and at least one in the pickup that tried to escape.”

  “Pretty sure there’s two more over here,” said Evans, scooting to the far right vehicle and poking his head over the hood. “Two dead!”

  “That makes five. Where are the keys to these cars?”

  “I have the keys to the Honda over there,” he said, tilting his head to the left. “Everyone had different keys. The plan was to split up.”

  “We’ll start searching the bodies, sir,” said Evans.

  Alex stood. “Roger that, Staff Sergeant. I want to be on the road in two minutes, assuming we didn’t disable every car in the lot.”

  “We’ll figure it out, sir,” Evans said, mustering the Marines.

  Alex yanked the prisoner to his feet by his shirt. “I need one of your radios.”

  “Byrd had the squad’s radio,” he said.

  Alex shrugged his shoulders. “Which one is Byrd?”

  The prisoner nodded at the bullet-riddled red pickup truck burning in the middle of the field.

  “That figures,” said Alex, rubbing his face.

  “Sir?” said the prisoner, still avoiding eye contact.

  “Yes?”

  “I assume you’re using a PRC-153 radio to communicate with your squad?”

  “Go on,” said Alex.

  “Your radio is basically a spiffed-up version of Motorola’s XTS-2500 line. It can access the same UHF frequencies used by Eli’s radio, with the same coding functionalities. I used to work at the Radio Shack in Windham.”

  The black SUV behind them roared to life, startling the prisoner. He dropped to his knees, pleading for his life. The gray, four-door sedan to the left of the SUV started next, followed by the pickup next to it. A rifle stock punched through the milky-white windshield, knocking hundreds of safety glass particles onto the hood and dashboard. Staff Sergeant Evans dragged his rifle over the dashboard and grinned.

  “I think we’re ready to roll, sir. Is he coming with us?”

  Alex kicked the prisoner’s feet, gaining his immediate attention.

  “If you can show me how to access those UHF channels, I promise we’ll slow to ten miles per hour before we toss you out of the car. Deal?”

  The terrified man nodded.

  “He’ll be along for part of the ride.”

  Chapter 45

  EVENT +21 Days

  Belgrade, Maine

  Alex raised a hand to cut down on the gale-force wind battering his face between the front headrests. At least he wasn’t in one of the front seats. He’d eaten his lifetime quota of bugs on the way to Boston in Ed’s Jeep. Boston felt a lifetime away.

  “Take a right after that collapsed barn,” said Alex. “That should be North Pond Road.”

  He picked up the computer tablet on the seat next to him and checked the map, making sure this turn was correct. They couldn’t afford the slightest delay. Despite the severely unsafe speeds endured during the Grand Prix-style, sixty-seven-mile drive between Rangeley Lake and Charlie’s lake house, Alex’s convoy didn’t have a shot at catching up with Eli. A twenty-minute head start guaranteed Eli would arrive first. He just hoped Kennedy’s driving had closed enough of the time gap to catch Eli in the planning or surveillance phase of his attack. If Eli opted to skip the prudent course of action and drove his Bronco right through Charlie’s front door, the Marines might arrive too late.

  “North Pond Road, sir! Hang on!” said Private First Class Kennedy, yanking the steering wheel right.

  The oversized SUV skidded into the turn, barely slowing as it fishtailed toward a utility pole on the other side of the crumbly asphalt road. Alex dropped the tablet in his lap and braced himself. The tires screeched, and the wooden post loomed in the rear driver’s side window. The SUV’s tires quickly regained traction, propelling them forward. The utility pole swiftly disappeared behind them in a cloud of dust, and Kennedy floored the accelerator. He twisted in his seat, peering through the rear cargo hatch window. The pickup truck and sedan carrying the rest of his team slid into the turn, successfully emerging from the dust cloud unscathed.

  “One point two miles to the turn onto Crane Road. Let’s slow down for that one so we don’t alert the entire lake,” said Alex, patting Kennedy on the shoulder.

  “Got it, sir,” said Kennedy, flashing two thumbs-up from the steering wheel.

  “I can’t imagine we’re too far behind him, sir. Not with Formula One’s driving,” said Evans, shaking his head. “They’re probably still sitting around tying their boots and adjusting their gear.”

  Alex nodded. “I don’t think he’ll wait around too long. He knows exactly what he’s up against.”

  “Which is why I doubt he’ll rush the process. He’s facing some of the same folks that kicked his ass the last time.”

  “I hope you’re right, Staff Sergeant,” Alex said, focused on the computer tablet.

  One mile until we find out.

  He thought about the layout of Charlie’s cottage. The 800-square-foot A-frame’s first floor was an open-concept design with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the lake. A spiral staircase situated in the middle of the house led to a suspended loft. Front to back, the only closed room in the house was the bathroom, which was located behind the kitchen next to the pantry. Two small windows and a door adorned the street-facing side of the house, which mostly shielded them from direct observation, but also restricted their view of the most logical approach. The steep roofed sides of the A-frame design came down to the ground, creating wide blind spots next to the house. From a tactical perspective, Charlie couldn’t have chosen a more difficult house to defend. Now Alex understood why Eli only brought half of the militia squad. Eli could effectively surround the structure by taking up positions on opposing sides of the house.

  The only feature of the house that might work in his friends’ advantage was the cellar. Robert Duhaime never set foot in the house, and cellars were not a common feature in lake houses, unless you were a prepper. Charlie had insisted on buying a plot of land high enough above the water table to dig a suitable cellar to store his supplies. With a little warning, they could take shelter underground and keep Eli at bay. Part of him wanted to fire an entire magazine out of the window at the trees, hoping that the gunfire might warn them of the impending danger, but he knew this might also warn Eli. With a threat at his back, Eli’s best chance of survival was to attack immediately and secure hostages. If he hadn’t killed them already.

  His decision to attack Eli at Rangeley Lake put his friends at risk. The choice had been clouded by a selfish desire to put an end to this once and for all. He just hadn’t counted on losing the helicopter and missing Eli by twenty minutes. The RRZ’s return to base directive had arrived at the worst possible moment. He didn’t have time to consider how they would reach Charlie’s if they missed Eli.

  He glanced past Kennedy’s arm at the speedometer. Ninety miles per hour. Several seconds later, they passed a long, tree-wrapped gravel road, which satellite imagery showed to be the last driveway on the
ir right before the Crane Road turnoff. He’d know really soon whether the decision to take the helicopter to Rangeley had been a mistake he’d live with for the rest of his life.

  “Start slowing down. The turn is five hundred feet on the left. It’s the only turn showing on the map,” he said, lurching forward in his seat from the car’s immediate deceleration.

  “All stations, prepare for dismount. Coming up on the turn,” said Evans over the squad radio.

  “I got it,” said Kennedy. “Green street sign right next to the utility pole.”

  “Let’s try to miss that pole, Kennedy,” said Alex, searching the woods surrounding the turn. “Looks clear.”

  “And I don’t hear any shooting,” added Evans. “We need to roll in quietly. Take the turn extra slow, Kennedy.”

  The Marine nodded, gently easing the SUV onto a smooth asphalt road flanked by signs announcing “Private Road. Dead End.” They cruised past the signs, slipping into the shadows cast by the tall pines bordering the road. Alex slid across the rear bench seat to the driver’s side and angled his rifle out of the window. The tires crackled over acorns, twigs and pebbles strewn across the asphalt, each sound exploding in Alex’s ears.

  “We’re looking for a black Bronco and a red Chevy Tahoe,” said Alex.

  “Or seven guys in woodland camouflage with rifles,” said Evans.

  “That too,” said Alex, peering through the trees.

  He risked a quick glance at the computer tablet, gauging their progress.

  “The road angles to the right, then goes straight about two hundred feet until it splits. We go left at the split, carefully,” said Alex.

  “Copy, sir,” whispered Kennedy.

  “Why are you whispering?” said Alex.

  “Because you’re whispering, sir.”

  Alex felt the SUV change direction, turning slightly right.

  “I see the split,” said Evans. “No sign of Eli’s vehicles. Still quiet.”

  “Take the turn as close to the left side of the road as possible, Kennedy,” said Alex, leaning over to view the turn.

  He caught a sparkle between the trees and a few slivers of blue. Patches of North Bay widened as they approached the “T” intersection. Kennedy skirted the right side of the road and executed a gradual, shallow left turn, cutting the corner as close to the shoulder as possible. The tactic minimized the car’s exposure before Evans had a chance to scan the road.

  “Red SUV ahead. Two hundred feet. Facing north,” said Evans, settling in behind his rifle.

  “Stop!” said Alex, hitting Kennedy on the shoulder and sliding to the middle. “What about Eli’s Bronco?”

  “Hold on,” said Evans, staring intensely through the ACOG scope on his rifle. “Got it. Black SUV in front of the Tahoe. No passenger movement.”

  “The house is another two hundred feet past Eli’s vehicles. Time to dismount,” said Alex, pushing the door open and jumping into the road.

  Sustained machine-gun fire shattered the quiet, followed by the sporadic pop-pop of semiautomatic fire. Alex dropped to the road and rolled next to the SUV, just as a shorter burst of automatic fire ripped through the lakeside community. Evans leaned out of his window.

  “They’re firing at the house!”

  Alex pushed off the ground, crouching behind the door. Another long, staccato burst echoed through the street, devoid of the telltale hisses and cracks.

  Shit!

  “Drive!” he screamed, hopping into the car.

  They roared past Eli’s Bronco, as long bursts of automatic fire continued.

  We’re too late.

  Based on the feeble level of return fire, he doubted many of his friends had survived the initial fusillade.

  “Dismount! Take your Marines down the road on foot and push through the yard. Weapons free!”

  Before Kennedy hit the brakes, Alex pushed off the seat in front of him and leapt out of the SUV, skidding across the shoulder into the bushes on the right side of the road. Without pausing, he lurched forward, breaking through the dense brush and tumbling onto a well-manicured lawn. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the thick wall of evergreens that marked the boundary of Charlie’s property, cringing with every devastating burst of rifle fire.

  “Staff Sergeant, you got anything on the road?” said Alex, his rifle barrel entering the wall of pine needles.

  “Negative. We’re almost in position in front of the house.”

  “Advise when ready. I’m entering the bushes on the right side of the property. Out.”

  The gunfire stopped, dropping a heavy silence over the yard. Gunfire meant his friends were still in the fight.

  Please. No.

  Alex shouldered his rifle, advancing cautiously in the face of the unbearable silence. When a few seconds passed without another shot, he stopped in the middle of the evergreen hedge and switched his squad radio to the first frequency programmed by the militia prisoner. He needed to distract Eli long enough to save anyone left alive in the house. It was all he could do at this point.

  “Eli, I’m going to kill you just like your piece of shit brother and nephew,” hissed Alex. “Make a bullet in the head a new Russell family tradition.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  The bush in front of him exploded, discharging a bloodied man in camouflage.

  Charlie!

  He collided with Alex, knocking them both to the lawn under bullets snapping through the branches. The sound of sustained automatic gunfire kept Alex pressed to the ground while the man desperately clawed at the grass beside him to get away. Alex twisted onto his side and reached out to calm Charlie, his hand knocking a Motorola radio out of the way. What the—Eli Russell stared back at him, stunned for moment, before his blood-splattered face morphed into a demented grin.

  “You!” he screamed, flipping onto his back and fumbling with the pistol holster on his belt.

  Alex rolled onto Eli, jamming his left hand against the top of the holster while driving his knee into his groin. Eli bellowed and planted his left foot under Alex’s lower abdomen, propelling Alex into the evergreen bushes. He tripped over the sturdy branches of a dwarf spruce and crashed to the ground, smashing the back of his helmet against a landscaping boulder. The blow left him stunned, until the first bullets from Eli’s gun whipped through the pine boughs, passing inches overhead.

  Alex rolled to his right in a desperate attempt to evade the storm of bullets chasing him. He collided with a tree trunk as Eli crashed through the bushes, screaming and firing his pistol until the slide locked back. One of the .45-caliber bullets struck the top of Alex’s helmet, snapping his head backward against the ground. The second bullet pounded his upper sternum—one inch below the top of the Dragon Skin vest. The impacts stopped him cold, freezing him in place for the kill shot. Eli crouched a few feet away, quickly reloading the pistol’s magazine and leveling it at Alex’s face.

  “What were you saying about my brother?”

  Alex kicked his right foot in an arc over his body, hitting the pistol but failing to knock it out of Eli’s grip. Eli backed up and extended the pistol forward, his eyes darting nervously to the left. A rifle barrel protruded through the bushes, hovering inches from Eli’s temple. A single, point-blank shot snapped Eli’s head sideways. His body remained upright for a moment, then crumpled to the ground next to the dwarf spruce, a bright crimson fountain pulsing skyward from the neat hole punched through his head. Charlie limped into the open, keeping his AR-15 aimed at Eli’s motionless body. A Marine shouldering a bipod-equipped M27 burst through the bushes a fraction of a second later, sweeping the smoking barrel left and right for targets.

  Corporal Almeda? He’d stayed behind in the helicopter, or so Alex thought.

  “Hostile is down. Say again. Hostile is down,” said the marine, crouching over Alex. “That was stupid, Mr. Thornton. You all right, Captain?”

  “The rest of your squad is hidden along the road,” he rasped, still struggling to breathe
from the sternum shot.

  “Copy that, sir,” said the marine, activating his microphone. “Friendlies on road in front of the house. Hold fire. I repeat. Hold fire.”

  Charlie kneeled next to him, slowly shaking his head. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “What the fuck hasn’t happened to me?” Alex grumbled, clasping Charlie’s hand. “Is everyone all right?”

  “Ed fell off the deck trying to follow me. He’s the only casualty I’m aware of.”

  “I’m fine, jackass!” said Ed, hobbling stiff-legged into view. “You knocked me down the stairs.”

  “You were moving too slow!” said Charlie. “Everyone’s fine. We moved the kids into the cellar after the Marines arrived.”

  Alex stared quizzically at Almeda. “How did you pull that off, Corporal?”

  “You owe that crew chief a few bottles of something expensive,” said the Marine. “He convinced the pilots to drop us off at the second set of coordinates.”

  Staff Sergeant Evans squeezed between the bushes next to Alex, his eyes drawn to the blood-soaked corpse on the ground.

  “Is that him?”

  “That’s him,” said Alex, staring at Eli’s lifeless, bloodshot eyes.

  “I’ll snap some pictures so they can confirm his ID,” said Evans. “Almeda, escort these gentlemen back into the house until we secure the perimeter. I don’t want any surprises.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I got them, Staff Sergeant,” said Alex, using Ed’s hand to pull himself up.

  “You got us?” said Ed. “I’m losing track of the number of times we’ve saved your ass.”

  “Me too,” said Alex, brushing off the pine needles. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you guys watching over me.”

  An awkward silence enveloped the group.

  “There’s an empty house at the end of the road. The owners live in Hartford. Doubt we’ll ever see them,” said Charlie. “We can make it work up here—together.”

  Alex unfastened the nylon straps against his chin and removed the three-pound ballistic helmet, accepting the sun’s warm rays on his face. He liked the sound of that.