“I think the trap you said we should expect is here.”
“I was wondering how long it would take them.”
“A cop reached out for help. Are you in town?”
“Just got back this morning,” Carl answered.
Lenore nodded with the phone to her ear. “Which makes this too coincidental.”
“Indeed. We’ll be coming heavy. Tell me when and where.”
Chapter 3
Carl Johnson stood across the street from the trendy Nob Hill diner, listening to the curt operational voices in his right ear. Merc Three was conducting the op.
“Twelve, status,” Three demanded.
“The area is secure. All exits covered. No hostiles.”
“Seventeen?”
“Two-block perimeter established. Clearing for hostiles…stand by.”
Three said, “Eighteen, you have overwatch?”
Merc Eighteen was the retired Special Forces sniper Agent Palmer had recruited to take the place of Merc Four, who had died in the op to rescue the president’s daughter.
“Roger that. Overwatch established. Zero hostiles.”
Merc Three said, “Boss, we’re standing by for perimeter check. Agent Palmer, request private channel with you and Zero, over.”
“Copy that.” Palmer’s voice was silent for a brief moment, then she said, “Private channel established.”
Carl knew what Three wanted to discuss. He knew Palmer wanted to discuss it too, but there hadn’t been time.
“I crossed the line in Mexico; I know that.” He kicked some rocks on the sidewalk. “But I couldn’t help myself. I was so…angry. Rage consumed me, and when I looked into that man’s eyes, all I could see was my dead son’s face. All I could think about was making him and his whole family pay.”
Three said, “Boss, you know me and the guys got your back no matter what. Actually, I wanted to ask you about what he said. Do you really think we could have a mole?”
Palmer interrupted. “Maybe if he’d stopped at ‘informant’ instead of ‘high-level informant,’ I might have given him credibility.”
Carl nodded to himself. “My thoughts exactly. The only high-level people on our team are the three of us and McGrath, and we’ve all been through the shit together. I trust you and, yes, even McGrath. There’s no way any of us four have been compromised. Just to be safe, though, let’s monitor all the new TER agents and mercs. I think he was just trying to live a little longer.”
Three added, “Or he knew you were going to kill him and that statement was his last jab, just to fuck with us, make us change our ground game.”
Palmer said, “On the other topic, Carl, I’m concerned about…hold one.” She fell silent. “Seventeen is reporting in on the other channel. Perimeter is clear. No hostiles. Reestablishing comm channel.”
“Copy that,” Three said. “All units, report in.”
It was late, so Carl had been standing in the dark shadows of the alcove of a closed clothing store half a block south of Central. Traffic cruised slowly by on the well-lit Central Avenue, but the side street where the restaurant was located was only sparsely lit and traffic was light. It was a good choice for a clandestine meeting. He scanned the dimly lit street as his team reported in. Three coordinated with Agent Palmer and gave him the all-clear.
“Boss, you are cleared to enter the restaurant.”
“Entering now.”
He crossed the street, crossed the courtyard patio, and stepped through the open front door. It was an old house that had been converted into a mom-and-pop New Mexican food restaurant. He’d eaten there many times over his three decades living in Albuquerque. The familiar aroma of red and green chile sauce reminded him of his long time living in that city…before becoming a domestic terrorist. Back when his son Mark was a child visiting for the summers, they’d eaten there so many times he’d gotten to know the owners. But that was a long time ago.
Carl had no backup inside the restaurant, so he paused inside the doorway and scanned the small dining room. The room was dimly lit and comfortable for patrons, and he wore a black T-shirt and dark jeans so the Glock he held pinned against his right thigh went unnoticed by everyone except Agent Cummings and the cop she sat with. Carl approached their table against the wall, then tensed as his earpiece erupted in chatter.
“Danger close! I have the shot! I’m taking the shot!”
Carl hadn’t fully perceived the threat yet, but there was something nonthreatening about the presence he felt quickly approaching him from the smaller dining room behind him, something familiar. There was an explosive whisper of “OhmyGod” in a voice that almost stopped his heart.
He whispered harshly, “Hold! Hold! Hold!”
As he spun to face the approaching figure, he also noticed Agent Cummings and the police officer tensing. Then the young fem-boy leapt into his embrace. He wrapped slender legs around Carl’s waist and his arms around Carl’s neck, then giggled and buried his face against Carl’s cheek.
“Rainey!”
“Hi, Carl.” The boy unwrapped himself, then planted a shy kiss on Carl’s cheek.
Carl tucked his Glock in his waistband in back and gently grabbed the boy by his shoulders and pulled him into a warm hug. “I thought you were dead,” he said, rocking Rainey side to side. “I thought I killed you by infecting you.”
“I never got sick. They said I was immune.”
Carl held the young man at arm’s length and looked him over. He wore tight black girly shorts, knee-high black boots with brass buckles, and a burgundy button-down blouse. He was just as pretty as when he’d first met him, except back then Carl had thought he was a girl because he’d been dressed in a miniskirt and stilettos. He had soft facial features and a minimal amount of makeup—clear lip gloss and a bit of eyeliner. He’d helped the boy out of a traumatic situation, but had touched him before he knew he himself was infected with the deadly Contagion. He’d assumed the boy and all his family had contracted the disease and died.
“Did you change your hair?” Carl asked.
Rainey nodded. His straight black hair was ear-length on the left and shoulder-length on the right. He pushed a few strands behind his right ear. “You like it?”
“I do,” Carl said with a smile. It highlighted his caramel-colored skin and made him look older than his twenty-something years. “Your family…uninfected?”
Rainey nodded. “You want to meet them?” He pivoted and pointed to a group of people that were eyeballing Carl. They seemed unfriendly.
“I have clients.” Carl nodded behind him. “Besides, your family looks like they don’t approve of you hanging with a terrorist.”
“I don’t believe what they say about you on the news, and I don’t believe you’re a terrorist.” He nodded at his family. “Besides, they don’t know you like I do.”
Carl smiled at the boy’s naiveté, but he also felt a little sad. In his new life in the shadow world of terrorism and government clandestine operations, a normal world of friends and family was forfeit. He shook off the sadness quickly. He’d chosen this life. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself. To Rainey he said, “What they say about me is true.”
“Well, I love you anyway.”
That caught Carl by surprise. “You know I’m older than your parents, right?” His words sounded crazy even to himself.
Rainey punched him playfully on the shoulder. “I don’t mean like that, Silly.” He hugged Carl again, then got teary eyed. “I never thanked you before, you know, for helping me.” He kissed Carl on the cheek again.
The gesture of tenderness made Carl smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “It’s what we do for our kids when we’re able.” That was his life mantra now because he hadn’t been able to save his own adult son. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
Rainey nodded, and Carl watched him sashay back over to his family.
A server approached. “Can I get you anything?”
Carl shook his head as he turn
ed to face Cummings and the officer.
The server turned her attention to the others. “Are you two still doing okay?”
They both nodded as Carl sat on the cushioned bench next to Cummings.
“Agent Cummings,” he said in greeting.
“Actually, it’s ex-agent.”
Carl grunted. “FBI’s loss.” He knew how capable Cummings was. He’d seen her extensive dossier.
They looked at each other sideways until it became uncomfortable, then his gaze took in what he could see of her new physique. She’d dropped almost twenty pounds and looked slender and fit. Lethal. Even her brown-eyed gaze was as hard as a rock. She looked ready for action.
“Looks like somebody’s been working out. No one is going to catch you off-guard again.”
“Damn straight.”
“Are you armed?”
She nodded. “Every minute of every day.”
Carl grunted his approval, then swiveled his head Chris Tucker-style and examined Officer Contreras across the table. The young man was clean-cut and good-looking, late twenties. His police uniform was immaculate. His face looked desperate.
“I hear you have a missing child.”
The officer nodded. “My niece. She’s only sixteen.”
“You know, if one of my people had a missing kid, nothing would stop us from getting that kid back, so what’s stopping you?”
The young officer looked around and started to speak, but Cummings interrupted him.
“She’s not missing, is she? She didn’t run away.”
Contreras looked down at the table and twirled his water glass. Finally, he shook his head. “My sister told me a week ago that Tiara, that’s her name, she took up with some people much older than her, in their mid-twenties. Shady people, that’s what Sis called them. She said they’re trafficking drugs and cars. I thought she was saying that because the guys get high and wore white wife-beaters and because them and the girls are all inked up.”
Cummings said, “So all you have is your sister’s concern. You have no evidence of kidnapping and so no cause for legitimate investigation. Yet you are worried…why?”
“Tiara didn’t go home last night. She promised she would because she had a doctor appointment early this morning.” Contreras looked at them both. “I’ve checked these people out. They are bad news. One of the guys and two of the women have records—assault, burglary, theft —and another has kidnapping charges filed against him, but without convictions.”
Carl looked to his left at Cummings and said, “Illegal surveillance. My kind of guy.” She held his gaze and, in an instant, he was back in time a little more than eight months ago. He’d had the FBI agent strapped naked to a table and threatened her daughter’s life because of what she’d done to…
She bounced her knee roughly against his and brought him back to the present.
He blinked several times, refocusing on her serious brown eyes. “Sorry.”
She nodded and he watched her scan the room. Once a cop, always a cop. He followed her gaze while speaking into his comm. “Three, what’s our status outside?”
“All clear, Boss. No threats.”
Carl nodded to himself and said, “Officer Contreras, do you have the names of the people your niece is involved with?”
The officer gave him the names of two men and one woman.
Carl was silent as his team researched the names. The cop was nervous. His gaze darted between him and Cummings, and he absently toyed with his fingernails.
The officer clasped his hands together and again glanced between Lenore Cummings and Carl. He started to speak, but Carl held up a palm.
Wizard, his ex-CIA analyst, whistled. “These really are some bad people, Boss. That police officer’s information barely scratched the surface. If the girl is mixed up with them…”
“Officer Contreras,” Carl began, wanting to make sure everyone on the channel knew to whom he was asking questions. “Do you have a location on the suspects?”
The officer nodded and rattled off an address with a zip code Carl recognized on the west side, not the best part of Albuquerque by far, but not the worst either.
Wizard said, “Two of the suspects have that address listed on their ID as their residence. I’m also seeing evidence of frequent travel to Mexico. Credit card receipts for El Paso hotels and gas stations and also in Juarez. These folks don’t care about leaving a digital trail.”
Agent Palmer said, “Carl, are you thinking they’re involved in human trafficking?”
“I am, but it’s only a gut feeling.” He enjoyed the power of knowing that the people he sat with could only hear his side of the conversation.
Palmer said, “If we wait for evidence, it might be too late for his niece.”
“Agreed,” Carl added. “Redirect the drone over that address. Let’s see who’s home.”
“Copy that. The house is on the West Mesa. Drone ETA, three minutes.”
Officer Contreras raised his eyebrows. “You have a drone?”
“I’m a fucking terrorist. Of course, I have a drone. It’s why you called her.” He head-nodded in Cummings’s direction. “Even though it’s dark, we have thermal and low-light capability. We’ll at least get a body count.”
While they waited, Cummings asked, “How did you know to call me?”
Contreras replied, “I called my sergeant. He was involved with Mr. Johnson’s operations late last year. He knew of your involvement together and suggested I reach out to you. He thought since the PD has you listed as hands-off,” the young cop looked at Carl, “you might be able to help.”
The officer ended his statement with a nod at Cummings, who bounced her knee lightly against Carl’s again.
Carl knew the explanation was a sham, but also that the officer hadn’t knowingly compromised them. Carl’s involvement with Cummings was highly classified, so only someone connected at the highest level of the local FBI office could have divulged that info…or someone on Rainman’s team.
Carl said to his mercenary team, “Everyone stay frosty.”
Three minutes later, they had a body count. The drone showed five adult-sized thermal markers moving in the kitchen and living room of the four-bedroom house. Two were moving and three were seated together, perhaps on a couch watching TV. There were also six smaller thermal markers in the southwest bedroom, seated in a row along a wall.
Merc Three said, “My guess would be these six are children or young teens, likely hostages, probably zip-tied.”
Carl nodded at the report. “Agent Palmer, your recommendation?”
Three interrupted. “Wait. One of the three seated adults is heading toward the group of six in the far bedroom. He’s pausing, perhaps at the door, checking to make sure they’re still where they should be. Now he’s returning to the front room. He’s sitting down again. Probably watching TV.”
Agent Palmer added, “I believe a retrieval is warranted. We have six personnel at your location. We’ll redeploy a team of three for retrieval with the drone and reposition your remaining team members around you for best coverage.”
Good plan. He noticed the way Agent Palmer never referred to his men and women as mercs. It was as if she couldn’t allow herself to utter the true name of his defense force. Eight months ago, four of his team members and a drug-addicted ex-CIA hacker, the one now called Wizard, had royally kicked the US government’s ass…twice. Or perhaps she didn’t care about all that and was simply giving the mercs respect by being politically correct.
He heard his name called from across the room and saw Rainey waving at him as he and his family left the diner. He waved back, wondering if the boy had nightmares and awoke screaming after his assault. Carl knew a bit about trauma and the emotional aftermath and how it could destroy one’s life. Maybe he’d check in on the young man from time to time since he knew where he lived.
Carl caught the attention of a server and ordered a serving of chicken enchiladas, light on the red and green chile sauce
, or easy-Christmas, as the server called it. He was conscious of the closeness of the FBI woman, the heat of her thigh touching his, the scent of her minty fresh breath. His meal came surprisingly fast and he devoured the food wordlessly. As he wiped with a napkin, he eyeballed the sopapilla, a kind of Mexican frybread that, when deep-fried, puffed up like a little air-filled pillow.
He chuckled. “Mark calls these things soapy-pillows. He’d—” Carl froze as a pang of grief gripped his heart, and he looked sideways at Cummings. “Well, he used to call them that. I mean, when he was little.”
She smiled cautiously.
He said, “He’d bite off a corner and pour so much honey inside that when he ate one, the honey would gush out all over everything. What a mess.”
He offered the two sopapillas to Cummings and Contreras, but they both declined, so he ate them himself. He’d just finished when the retrieval team reported in.
“Sixteen here. I have eyes on six children sitting on the floor, all zip-tied.”
“Nine here. I have eyes on five adults in the front rooms of the house.”
“Twelve here. Rear of the house is secure. Ready to breach on your order, Agent Palmer.”
Agent Palmer added, “Sixteen, is the target package present?”
“Affirmative.”
“Breach now!”
Carl heard two flash-bang explosions over the channel followed quickly by two explosions he knew were the front and back doors being blown open. Three seconds of shouting and harsh language finalized the breach.
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
Carl listened for a moment, then looked at the officer and said, “Six children, including Tiara, have been evacuated from the house. All uninjured.”
Contreras let out his breath and signed a cross in the air before him. Carl resisted his knee-jerk reaction of discounting the involvement of the man’s deity in the rescue operation.
Sixteen said, “Disposition of the suspects?”
Nancy Palmer was first and foremost a government agent. She wouldn’t make the call that needed to be made in Carl’s world. She couldn’t, so Carl did.
American Terrorist Trilogy Page 69
