by Ethan Cross
“And If I don’t?”
“We’ll kill you and take it. And in case you’re considering something rash, you should know that another of my associates is currently looking down the scope of a sniper rifle at your friend, Ms. Dixon.”
Munroe’s jaw muscles tightened into tight cords, and his fists balled up. Through clenched teeth, Munroe said, “I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket.”
“Slowly,” the dark-skinned giant said.
Munroe’s hand came out of his pocket with a small, gray device that Black assumed to be the flash drive. He passed the drive back to the giant. “I gave it to your man,” Munroe said to the phone. “You going to kill us now like you did Gerald and General Easton?”
“The death of your friend was unfortunate, and I apologize for that. It was not by my orders. I’m afraid it was the result of overzealous private contractors. But you shouldn’t live in the past, Mr. Munroe. Try to focus on the present and live in the moment.”
“You work for Ramon Castillo, don’t you?”
The man on the other end of the line hesitated just long enough to show his surprise, and Munroe continued. “I have a friend who works on the FBI’s task force on organized crime. We had dinner a few weeks back, and he told me about how the Castillo Cartel out of Mexico has been worming their way into legitimate US companies that have fallen on hard times. He said that the cartels were a hundred times more dangerous than any group we’ve faced here in the United States. Fortunately, the Senate is preparing to ratify a new bill that would declare the cartels as terrorist organizations, which means that the government can grab any holdings or companies linked to them. It would be terribly inconvenient if any evidence surfaced that showed such a link between the cartels and a large US corporation, especially one with a lucrative military contract. I wonder if that’s what’s contained in the directory on the drive marked as Money Transfers.”
“You’re a clever man. Unfortunately, without the drive, you have nothing. I hope you’re clever enough to realize that this situation has escalated out of your control. This is your one chance to walk away. Give the phone back to my associates, and they will leave you in peace. But if you continue down this path, you will leave me with no choice but to engage in certain activities that I find…distasteful. Goodbye, Mr. Munroe.”
Black handed the phone back without turning around. In the reflection on the greenhouse, he saw the giant place the phone into a pocket. Then he watched each of the men carefully, expecting one of them to raise a weapon. And, if either of them did so, he was ready to make a move. Jonas Black didn’t intend to go down without a fight.
But neither of them made an aggressive gesture. They simply started backing toward the exit. The giant said, “Don’t move or turn around. And don’t try to follow us. If we don’t call in again in five minutes, the sniper will kill your friend.”
Black couldn’t believe it. The man on the phone had been telling the truth. They were leaving them alive. He felt the terrible weight of fear and uncertainty lifting as hope that he would live to see another day crept into its place.
And then Munroe shattered that hope as he said, “Wait. You’re forgetting something.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Munroe knew how lucky he had been to survive the confrontation with the men who killed Gerald. Repeat the same scenario one hundred times, and he would make those shots a quarter of the time, probably less. That realization bred fear and doubt, and the helplessness he experienced led him to devise a method by which to defend himself. Tobi Savoy provided the tools necessary to level the playing field and give him an option if attacked, an option for a situation exactly like the one in which he now found himself.
“What are we forgetting?” the giant Hispanic man said at his back.
“The key code for the drive.”
“What key code?”
Munroe tried to fake exasperation. “I would have just kept it, but since you’re actually going to let us live, I don’t want this coming back on me later. I want to put this whole mess behind me.”
He heard the giant step closer. “Then give me the key code.”
“I’m going to reach into my other pocket and retrieve it.”
Munroe lowered his hands and reached toward his jacket with slow and nonthreatening movements. His hand slipped inside the pocket and gripped a small device that resembled a hockey puck. Fingers danced over the detonator, and then he dropped the grenade down the back of his jacket, letting it hit the ground and roll toward their attackers.
~~*~~
Black wasn’t sure what Munroe was up to, but he was positive he wouldn’t like it. The black circular device that fell from beneath Munroe’s jacket confirmed that suspicion. He managed to look away, but it wasn’t enough.
A blinding flash and deafening explosion seared Jonas Black’s senses. He had experienced the sensation many times before—the detonation of a flashbang grenade—but there was no defense against the attack, no way to get used to it or fight through the pain.
He felt hands wrap around his bicep and urge him to move. He stumbled in the direction the hands led him. His vision had gone white, and a high-pitched ringing beat against his eardrums. The PT845 pistol rested in his right hand, but he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there. The hands pulled him down into a crouch. He smelled something moist. Vegetation. Fertilizer. The greenhouse?
Finally, the white dots started to clear from his vision, at least enough so that he could see his surroundings. Munroe crouched beside him in the greenhouse. Apparently, the blind man had set off the flashbang, covered his own ears, and then dragged Black to cover with him.
Munroe’s lips moved frantically, but Black couldn’t understand the words. The ringing blocked all other sounds.
In what seemed like slow motion, the greenhouse exploded all around them. Shards of glass flew everywhere, filling the air, as the gunmen opened fire from outside. On instinct, he pulled Munroe down and close to him. The plants disintegrated under the barrage. Soil and mulch and water droplets mixed with the glass shards in a hurricane of dust and debris.
The translucent glass had kept the gunmen from seeing in to get a clear bead on their targets, but now the panes had been destroyed in several spots. He saw a face appear in one of the openings. The man who had held the gun on them. The man’s head pulled back from the opening, but Black could still see the man’s shadowy frame in the adjoining pane of glass.
He raised his gun and squeezed the trigger in quick succession. The ringing in his ears had decreased slightly, and he heard the man cry out in pain and fall.
One down, but the giant was still out there.
Staying in a low crouch, Black moved back to the greenhouse’s entrance. Upon reaching the door, he used the frame as a pivot to scan the area beyond. No sign of the large Hispanic man. Maybe he had fled with the flash drive.
Black knew that the force of the sound wave had pushed the little hairs in his inner eat flat, causing the ringing sound. But the effect had begun to wear off, and another noise registered over the high-pitched hiss. His senses still disoriented, it took a second for the source and direction of the sound to register.
When it did, he wheeled around in time to see the giant bearing down on him, the huge man’s dark face contorted in pain and rage.
~~*~~
Munroe knew that he could do little to help Black, but he could save another member of his team. If their attackers were to be believed, at that moment, a sniper’s aim centered on Annabelle.
He pulled out his phone and issued a voice command to dial her number. With each unanswered ring, his despair grew. Finally, after five rings, she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Don’t show any reaction or surprise. Act as if this is just any other phone call. Listen to me carefully. I’m told that you’re at a sidewalk cafe. Is this correct?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.”
“I’m also told a sniper is watching you right now, but we’re going to deal with that. Are there any cars parked nearby?”
“There’s one right across from me.”
“Good. When I tell you, I want you to hang up the phone, sit it down casually, and act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Then count to ten and dive toward the car. Get underneath it and stay there. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to call the police. You stay under that car and wait for them to arrive. I’ll call you back in a minute. Okay?”
“Not really.”
“You’re going to be fine.”
“Deacon, I—”
“No time for that. Hang up now and start counting.”
~~*~~
Annabelle placed the phone down on the circular patio table and pushed her salad away. As she counted down from ten, she popped her neck and tried to look around at the other people in the restaurant casually. She didn’t want the sniper to sense that anything was wrong.
Nine. Eight.
She watched a young couple laughing in the corner. The man’s hand rested lovingly over his companion’s.
Seven. Six.
The waitress approached and asked if she needed more water. She smiled and said, “No, thank you.”
Where was she? Three? Two?
She supposed it didn’t really matter. Moment of truth.
Trying her best not to betray her intentions, she tensed her muscles to spring from the chair. She willed her trembling legs and arms to coil into tense strands, like a cobra ready to strike. She realized that this could be her last moment on Earth, and the thought froze her in place. So much life left to live. So much she still wanted to do. So many missed opportunities.
But she wasn’t dead yet. She tried to focus on that and forget all the rest.
And then she dove toward the car.
~~*~~
The huge Hispanic man struck Black with the force of a freight train. He lifted completely from his feet and struck the reinforced frame of the greenhouse door. Pain shot down his spine and through his legs.
The giant grabbed a handful of his shirt and threw him onto a raised metal shelf containing potted plants. The huge man ran him down the length of the table, the clay pots shattering against his skull.
When they reached the end, the giant let him fall to the glass covered ground and then smashed his face against the concrete. He felt the loose shards of broken glass slice into his forehead, and blood ran into his eyes.
He fought against the giant’s grip, but the stranglehold of the man’s huge fists was impossibly strong.
The giant jerked him from the ground, and arms like tree trunks wrapped around his chest and squeezed. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his ribs flex and pop. With his arms still free, he slammed both fists against the giant’s head and neck, but the crushing embrace didn’t loosen.
Spots again filled his vision, this time from lack of oxygen. His fingers groped over the giant’s flat face and found the eye sockets. With one hand on each side of the broad face, Black drove his thumbs into the giant’s eyes.
A roar of agony escaped the big Hispanic’s mouth, and the pressure released from Black’s midsection. He continued to press his thumbs into the man’s skull, but the giant shoved his arms up between Black’s and knocked them away.
The eye trauma would have disabled most men, but instead of halting the giant’s attack, it only served to enrage him further. The huge man was like a snarling animal, full of fury and a singular consuming desire to kill.
He fell on Black with all his strength and weight. Meaty fingers wrapped around Black’s neck, and the giant’s weight drove him back to the concrete.
He kicked and punched the giant’s side and rammed his fists against the man’s head, but screaming in agony and insanity, the giant didn’t even register the blows.
Unable to breathe. Throat crushing. Fingers scrambling, searching. Pain everywhere. Terrible unmovable pressure. Vision growing lighter and then darker. World fading.
In a mad rush, his fingers slid over something sharp. Frantically opening and closing his fist, he pulled the shard of glass closer. Then it was in his hand. The shard’s sharp edges sliced into the meat of his fingers, but he barely noticed, just one more ache in a world of pain.
With his last reserve of strength, his arm shot upward and jammed the glass into the giant’s neck.
The huge man fell back. His fingers clawing at his throat as blood spurted onto the concrete. The giant’s body convulsed for a moment and then laid still.
Black wanted nothing more than to just fall back and rest. He wiped blood from his face. The taste of copper and stomach acid occupied his aching throat.
Then he remembered Annabelle.
He pulled himself up and searched the ruined greenhouse for Munroe. The blind man still crouched near where he had left him. “Annabelle?” he said in a harsh croak.
Munroe’s sunglasses had fallen off at some point, exposing his dead blue eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks.
“We need to get help for Annabelle!” Black repeated.
Munroe nodded. His voice cracked as he said, “I just spoke to her. She’s safe.”
Black bent over with his hands on his knees and said, “Have you reconsidered that body armor yet?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Munroe still remembered his office at the Pentagon fondly, even though it had been over ten years since he had actually seen it. He could have used his influence to requisition a larger and more luxurious space, one with a private office for him, but he liked the communal feel of the room. He called it his War Room, and they were most assuredly at war. The twenty by twenty space held three matching walnut desks, all facing each other, and thanks to Annabelle, always smelled like vanilla or cinnamon or whatever fragrance had most recently piqued her interest. His desk sat at the back of the room against the outer window with Annabelle and Gerald’s desks flanking his in a U-shape. He remembered the way in which the yellow-tinted bullet and blast resistant glass of the Pentagon had cast an unusual pallor onto everything in the room. He had heard rumors that the Secretary of Defense had paid out of his own pocket to have the glass replaced with a more expensive crystal clear variety, but he had never asked the Secretary if the rumor were true. At one time, he had filled the rest of the room with cork boards and dry erase boards displaying pictures and bits of information pertinent to cases, but now all that had to be done in his head.
Black had barely said a word to him since the attack at Georgetown the previous evening. He tapped a finger on his desk and could feel Black’s hard stare burning holes in him.
“You don’t agree with the way that I handled the situation at the university?” Munroe finally said.
“We were lucky. You almost got us both killed. And Annabelle. Is that drive really worth all our lives? Most operators would have shot us both in the back of the head and searched the corpses for the intel.”
“This man isn’t most operators.”
“Listen, Munroe. I get that you’re an expert on the inner-workings of politics and bureaucracy and all this defense department bullcrap. You understand all that in ways that I never will. And, you just think of me as some ex-con with a gun, but I was a good soldier once. I understand soldiers and combat situations in ways that you never will.”
Munroe steepled his fingers and said, “Duly noted.”
“What was all that about Ramon Castillo?”
“Castillo is the leader of one of the largest cartels in Mexico, and many believe him to be one of the most dangerous men in the world.”
“But how did you connect him to all this?”
“An educated guess that our Hispanic friend confirmed for us. I was telling the truth when I said that a friend at the FBI had described t
he Castillo Cartel’s business dealings here in the US. It made sense that the cartel could be connected. Any other questions?”
Black released a long disgusted breath but said nothing. He could feel the heat coming off the big man in the silence that followed. A ringing of Munroe’s cell phone cut through the tension. “What did you find, Joey?” he said into the phone.
“You were right to have me look through the photos of people associated with the Castillo Cartel. I found the guy that broke into my apartment. His name is Antonio de Almeida. He’s a Colombian who rose through the ranks to become one of the group’s top enforcers. It’s rumored that Almeida’s become Ramon Castillo’s right hand man since Castillo’s son was killed in a recent attempt to take down Ramon himself.”
“Good work. What about Wyatt Randall’s financials?”
“Nothing unusual there. If he was getting paid from somewhere, the money wasn’t going into his bank account. Which means no paper trail. But I did get a pretty big hit on people from Randall’s past. Apparently he went to college with Brendan Lennix.”
“The president of Lennix Pharmaceuticals?”
“Right, and word is that Lennix has been working on some highly classified project for DARPA and the DOD. Pretty good for a company that was almost bankrupt.”
“I can take a guess on who helped Lennix overcome his financial troubles. Keep digging. See if you can find out anything else about Lennix’s mystery project. What about Randall and General Easton? Did you find any connection there?”
“Easton’s son attended Georgetown during the same time Randall taught there. Annabelle’s verifying it, but we think he may have been one of Randall’s students. If so, we’re going to track him down and find out if he put Randall in touch with his father.”
