by T. K. Lukas
Sidney dropped her gaze to the floor, averting his eyes. She ran clammy hands down her shirt, then rubbed them together. Clearly in turmoil, she hesitantly questioned the word, “Trust?”
“Yes. I need you to trust me.” If she can’t trust me by now, then what the hell am I doing here, he thought, as he waited for her response.
Guardedly, her voice scarcely a whisper, she said, “I chose—to trust you.”
Markus heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Thank you. I’m going to need even more trust, not only about this situation, but about a lot more I can’t go into right now. Will you do that for me, trust me like I need you to do?”
She nodded. “Yes. I will.”
Besides her verbal declaration, it was the set of her jaw and the resolve in her eyes that told him she’d truly made the decision to trust him. He understood what a monumental leap she’d just taken. Knowing Sidney’s past, of her trusting a man who didn’t deserve it, but who in fact had used that trust against her, made him feel more than relieved. He felt humbled—and determined to not let her down.
They helped Trevor into the back seat where he could stretch out, Trevor’s muffled grunts and groans mingling with his dog’s whimpers. After they eased Trevor inside, Gunner hopped in and sat on the floorboard, his head resting on the seat.
Sidney opened the front passenger door, allowing Rex to jump in. She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and buried her face in his fur. “You saved my life,” she murmured, her tears adding to the wetness of his coat. Wiping her eyes on her shirtsleeve, she moved around to the other side of the truck, settled into the driver’s seat, and waited.
Markus unlashed Anton from the horse stall, loosening the rope around his ankles so he could walk. With his Glock pressed against Anton’s back, Markus instructed him to climb into the empty cargo box in the bed of the pickup and lie down. Anton put up a brief struggle, but Markus forced the lid down, then locked it and pocketed the key. He tapped on the rear window, signaling Sidney to drive.
CHAPTER 25
Alpine
Sidney paced the floor, massaging the back of her neck while Markus reloaded Trevor’s pistol. Trevor assured them he was fit to fight, should the need arise. Markus gave him a quick test of his reflexes and checked the dilation of his pupils, pronouncing him as fit as could be expected. Thankfully, Trevor was right handed, and despite his burns, could still aim straight if need be.
With Sidney and Trevor safely sequestered behind locked and secured doors, Markus could now focus on his mission. What to do with his prisoner. How to get him to talk. He eased into the driver’s seat, ignoring the furious kicking coming from the cargo box.
He steered the truck onto the gravel lane that wound past the lodge and snaked behind the long row of garages meant for customers’ expensive sport utility vehicles. Beyond the garages, the lane continued past a small cluster of storage sheds. Pointing the truck toward the end of the row, he braked to a halt in front of a stone building that housed the meat locker and processing room.
Markus slammed his door shut, and then moved to the bed of his truck. After unlocking the cargo lid, he pulled Anton up by his shoulders and dragged him out of the box. Anton struggled against Markus’s grasp, making the short walk to the building’s door a difficult task.
Once inside, Markus flipped a switch, flooding the stark room with fluorescent light. The butcher’s table stood against the far wall, the instruments of bleeding, skinning, and dismembering a carcass displayed in plain view. To the side of the table and centered over a gaping drain in the floor, a meat hook dangled from an overhead hoist used to lift deer carcasses ready for gutting and bleeding.
Markus shoved Anton onto his knees and removed the gag from his mouth. “You can cooperate, and I’ll let you live. Or, you can not cooperate, and I’ll inflict such unbearable pain on you that you’ll wish you were dead.”
“Fuck you, you goddamned prick.” Spit flew from Anton’s mouth with his raging response.
“Wrong answer.” Markus grabbed Anton by his collar and dragged him to the hoist. Lifting him to a standing position, he attached the hook to the rope binding Anton’s wrists behind his back.
Anton looked on in horror, his eyes wide with fright as he watched Markus reach for a remote control. Markus pushed the button controlling the hoist. The mechanism lifted Anton off the floor, leaving his boots hovering inches above the drain.
Anton’s inhuman scream filled the room. His high-pitched shrieks sounded like those of an animal caught in a trap. He glared at Markus with panicked eyes. His rasping pants increased, yet he still refused to talk. Soon, Anton lost control of his bladder, and a wet stain spread across the front of his jeans.
“I don’t have all night. Things are only going to get worse. Who sent you here?”
He spat at Markus. “I don’t talk to no gringo mother fucker.”
“Have it your way. But I won’t just stand around waiting for you to decide you’ve had enough.”
Leaving him dangling from the hoist, Markus hurried out of the building, soon returning with the jumper cables from his truck. After binding Anton’s ankles and unbuckling his belt, he yanked down the man’s jeans, exposing his genitals. He fastened one clamp of the jumper cables onto Anton’s nipple, the other clamp to his scrotum.
Anton’s body bucked and twisted as he spewed a volley of Spanish curses. “Tienes un pene pequeno, pinche cara de mecos.”
“No woman has ever complained about the size of my cock,” Markus countered as he calmly walked away, choosing to ignore the “sperm face” part of the insult.
Using his pocketknife, he removed the plate from a wall socket and pulled out the wires. He uncoiled the remaining length of the jumper cables and attached the black clamp to the negative wire, while his hand holding the red clamp hovered near the positive wire.
“Talk, or shock—you choose,” Markus said, matter-of-factly.
“Yo cago en la leche de tu puta madre,” Anton spat.
“That would be difficult. My mother’s dead.” Markus touched the metal tip of the jumper cable to the wire, sending a current of electricity coursing through Anton’s body.
Anton’s back arched in a violent spasm. Despite jaws clamped shut, a primordial grunt escaped. Several seconds passed before Markus removed the metal tip of the clamp from the exposed wire and broke the circuit. As Anton’s body went limp, his bowels released and he defecated himself.
“So much for shitting in the milk of my mother, who, by the way, was not a whore. Looks like you’ve shit yourself.” Markus remained squatted down by the wall. Making a dramatic movement as if to reconnect the cable to the wire, he asked again, “Talk or shock. Same choice as before.”
“Parada. Stop.” Anton begged. “I’ll talk.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Markus unclamped the jumper cable from the wire, letting the end he was holding drop to the floor. Stepping over to the hoist, he lowered Anton a few inches until he could support his weight on the balls of his feet. Anton let out an agonized shriek as pressure was taken off his shoulders. With the slight movement, severe pain shot through each arm.
His voice even and measured, his eyes cold, hard slits, Markus said, “So, let’s try this again. Who sent you?”
Gulping mouthfuls of air, Anton hissed, “His name is Winston. Winston Knight.”
“Have you been in recent contact with him?”
“Si. Always in contact.”
“Is he here in Alpine, too?”
Anton shook his head. His clammy skin had turned pale, and perspiration soaked his clothes.
“Is Knight responsible for ordering the arson on your male target’s home, or ordering the murder of your female target’s attorney?”
“Yes. Si. It was him.”
“Does he traffic drugs and weapons? Is that how he’s made his fortune?”
“We…” Anton struggled to maintain even breaths and to keep his body from swaying. Every small move
ment inflicted more pain to his shoulders. “Si. We run things for him.”
“And who is the big boss? Who does Winston answer to?”
“Nobody. Knight—gives—all the orders.” Anton’s head lolled forward and back. Drool trailed from his mouth onto his shirt. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he fell unconscious.
“Sure. Winston Knight gives all the orders.” Markus doubted Winston was at the top of the pyramid, but he’d heard enough. Stopping his cellphone’s voice recorder, he thought twice about unclamping his jumper cables. The one attached to Anton’s nipple wouldn’t be a problem, but without a protective glove, he wasn’t going near the one clamped to the man’s scrotum, not after it had been pissed and shit upon. He decided to leave the clamps attached.
*****
Markus drove his pickup to the edge of his outdoor arena and parked against the fence. Glancing again at his watch as he strode over to the power pole, he figured it would be at least an hour before Moose and his team arrived. However, just in case the Black Hawk came sooner than expected, he flipped on the switch, bringing the arena’s glaring lights to life.
Forty-five minutes later, the whop-whop-whop of a helicopter’s rotor blades whirred in the distance. Looking to his left, he saw the approaching Black Hawk flying just above the tree line. As it neared the arena, gritty sand blew into the air, creating a sepia-colored dust cloud. Markus shielded his eyes with his arm as he jogged to meet the crew.
This reminds me of Afghanistan. Except now, the enemy is in my own backyard.
The chopper landed in the middle of the arena amidst a whirlwind of blowing sand. The doors slid open and Moose jumped to the ground, followed by Master, Cannibal, Cooper, and Rocky. The pilot killed the engine and the rotors slowed to a stop.
After greeting the team, Markus pulled Moose aside. “The situation has changed since I arranged for you and your team to come and secure a perimeter around the lodge. The perimeter has been breached. I had a messy situation on my hands earlier.”
“Give me the abridged version. What the hell happened?”
“A team of three cartel thugs infiltrated the premises and ambushed Sidney and Trevor, the “witnesses,” if you will. Two of the thugs are in the barn—dead. I captured the third for interrogation purposes. He’s hanging in the meat locker, probably still alive.”
“Probably?”
Markus shrugged and nodded. “Most likely.”
“Your witnesses—are they injured, or…?”
“Trevor—walking wounded. Gunshot through the left bicep. Possible concussion. I doctored him up as best I could, but he should be medevac’d when possible. Sidney was tasered, but no serious damage. If these goons got word back to whomever they work for, supposedly Winston Knight who is Sid’s estranged husband, then Sidney’s not safe here. They’re both in danger the longer they’re here.”
“No doubt. So, what’s the new plan?” Moose listened intently, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“Exfiltration, ASAP. Use code names in all communications. Sidney’s code will be—Princess. Trevor—Iron Man.”
Moose nodded. “Got it.”
“Get them to a safe location—I’m thinking the Farm.” Markus noted Moose flinching at that. “Send another helicopter to remove the dead and to secure the prisoner. Turn him over to the FBI. Let them handle it.”
Moose paused before answering. “Dragon, you know what you’re suggesting is beyond my capacity to approve.”
“Then get your boss on the phone. He can approve it.”
“And then what? Should I tell him we’ve got a twisted fairytale on our hands, where Dragon is trying to rescue the Princess from the dangerous Knight?”
“Nice play on words, Moose. Just make the call.”
“It’s late in Langley. A middle of the night call never goes over well.” Moose retrieved his phone and pressed the speed dial. After a brief pause, he said, “Sorry to wake you, sir. We’ve arrived at Disneyland and I’m here with Dragon. The situation has escalated, prompting the need for a Plan B. I think you better handle this.”
Markus reached for the phone. “How are you, sir?”
“Doing well, Dragon. I gather you’re not. Let’s cut through the minutiae. What’s changed?”
“Two dead Rio Negro cartel members in my barn. One thoroughly interrogated cartel member hanging in my meat locker. Two frightened witnesses sheltering in my lodge, one with a bullet wound to his arm. That’s what’s changed.”
“Jesus Christ, Dragon.” A pause. “I’m afraid to ask, but what is it that you want me to provide you now?”
Without hesitation, Markus issued his requirements. “Get the witnesses, coded Princess and Iron Man, out of here—tonight—on this chopper. Have a jet waiting at Fort Bliss to evacuate them to the Farm. Send another chopper back here to pick up the cartel members, both dead and alive. Turn the one calling himself Anton over to the FBI, and tell them I’ve got a recorded message from him they’d be interested in listening to. It implicates the female witness’s estranged husband as being involved with the cartel’s criminal activity. Review the S.A.D. file I sent in an email to my former Ops officer.”
“And then what, Dragon? You know this is highly unorthodox. You’re not on the payroll anymore, and your request is out of line. I’ve already stuck my neck out for you, getting Moose and his team there. Evacuating potential witnesses to a federal crime falls under the jurisdiction of the FBI. This is not the CIA’s problem.”
“Come on, Jim. I’m not just talking about arson, murder, and attempted murder. Knight, is also involved in international arms and drug trafficking, something the CIA’s been dirtying their hands with for a long time. These are witnesses that should be protected. And I’m going to protect them whether I’m on anyone’s goddamned payroll, or not.” Markus sucked in a deep breath, knowing he may have crossed the line.
After an extended moment of silence, the Deputy Director responded. “You and I have a long history, Dragon, a history of trust and respect. It goes way back—”
“Way back to when you and I started the Company’s ‘Code Red Dragon’ program. Even farther back to when you were my Special Ops commander. You trusted and respected my instincts then. I’m asking for you to do so now. Sir.”
Pausing, a deep breath rattling over the connection, he said, “All right. Proceed as requested. But remember this. You’ve been officially retired for three years now. Your unofficial ID has been dead longer than that. You’re flying solo on this mission. Whatever happens from this point forward will never be recognized as a legitimate operation. Do you understand the implications?”
“Yes, sir, I do. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll have a company jet waiting for you tomorrow morning at Fort Bliss to fly you and the others to Langley. There, I’ll have a helicopter waiting to bring you to the Farm. Then, you and I will have a face-to-face sometime later, depending on my schedule. At that point, everything will be turned over to the FBI and I can wash my hands of this.”
“That’s a fine plan, sir. But, I’m not coming. I’m putting Moose in charge of getting the witnesses to El Paso and points beyond. I have to take care of some business in Fort Worth.”
“Business in Fort Worth? What the hell is this about?”
“It’s personal, sir. You don’t want to know.”
“Call me when you get to Virginia, for Pete’s sake, whenever that may be.” O’Connor hung up the phone.
*****
Under Markus’s direction, Master and Rocky were dispatched to guard Anton and to clean him up sufficiently enough to ride in the helicopter without sickening the crew. Cooper and Cannibal were sent to clean up the mess in the barn and to prepare the bodies for transport. Moose was appointed to supervise both exercises.
And Markus was left to figure out how in the hell he was going to explain to Sidney why he wouldn’t be flying out of Alpine with her.
CHAPTER 26
Alpine
Sidney curle
d up on the sofa with Rex at her feet, waiting for Markus to return. Her hair, damp from her shower, felt cool against her neck while the skin on her hands and fingers felt raw from scrubbing away the blood. She had tossed Trevor’s and her stained clothes into a trash bag that she’d left by the back door, ready to be taken to the dumpster. As soon as it was safe to go outside, she told herself, she would.
As soon as it’s safe… How many times these past months have I thought those words?
Across the room, Trevor paced in front of the fireplace, his pistol in a waistband holster at the small of his back. After he’d showered, he’d taken Markus up on his earlier offer and raided his closet, finding jeans and a T-shirt to wear. Gunner watched him intently as he paced, his eyes following every movement.
“I’m getting more coffee. You want anything?” Sidney stood and stretched, pressing her fists against her back.
“Yeah, I’ll take a quadruple bourbon, straight.”
“I didn’t think you took anything straight.”
They both cracked up laughing. “Very funny, sister. Actually, I’ll take another black coffee, thanks.”
“That felt good—to laugh.” Sidney paused in the doorway. “Besides just now, when was the last time you had a good belly laugh?”
“I can’t remember.” Trevor shrugged, shaking his head.
“I can’t either.”
Returning with two cups of steaming coffee, she handed one to Trevor. “When interrogating a prisoner, I wonder how long it takes to get to the truth?” Her question reminded her of the old television commercial that asked how many licks did it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, and she felt strangely saddened by the comparison.
Trevor strode to the window and drew back the curtain. “Apparently it takes this long. He’s pulling in now.”
